Hero Uncalled For
by silmelinde
Summary: "Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks." JN/OFC
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC. I make no material profit from fanfics.

"Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks." (Samuel Johnson)

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The amber night was filled with loud curses, occasional gunshots and bursts of drunken laughter as the worst types of pirates, scoundrels and adventurists gathered on a God forsaken strip of land. Thinly spread out yellow lights blinked in murky windows, making the road more frightening than illumining it. The fog came from the sea, covering the town piled up on the shore in blurry mist.

Stepping outside, Renee pulled her worn out scarf securely around her shoulders and hunched, keeping to the shadowy part of the shabby street. A woman who wished to pass through one of the Tortuga's worst nooks at night without becoming free entertainment to one of the vagabonds had no business being there at all. That was so, but her three days empty stomach had disagreed. She hadn't been able to resist an opportunity to work the night shift at the local pub, the Red Parakeet, one of the shadiest places in town. The pub owner provided her temporary employees, and there were many new ones due to majority of the servers getting shot or maimed, with a full meal, whereas the late shift offered more money. The most dangerous part, however, was returning home that lay on the outskirts of the town. Praying that for once fortune would bestow a bit of luck on her, Renee hurried along. She was tempted to run, but feared that it too would attract unnecessary attention.

It seemed that the boon responsible deity had no liking of frightened, weak-willed women, for Renee soon noticed that she was followed by two men. As inconspicuously as possible, she walked a bit faster to the nearest corner and then broke into full run pursued by heavy boots thudding behind her. Fear urged her to go faster. Drab hair strands fell into her eyes and she dared not brush them away. The street seemed awfully long. Shouldn't there have been a familiar turn a while ago? She must have missed it. There was no turning back, so Renee lurked into the nearest dark alley and pressed her back to the wall, hopeful the bandits might run by. Her feet wobbled from fear with little help from the slippery ground covered in disgusting puddles of mud after a thunderstorm. Renee slid farther into shadow, backing into a dead end.

The sound of hefty footfalls stopped. The bandits exchanged a few words, deciding which way to go. Then, slowly, deliberately, they moved towards her hiding place. Two dim silhouettes approached suspiciously, almost sniffing out the darkness. They knew she was there. Renee crouched behind some broken crates. When two men turned away to search the other side of the alley, she tried to crawl past them unnoticed.

Unbidden tears from abrupt pain stung her eyes as she was grabbed and hurled onto her feet by her hair. "There ya are! We've been looking for ya," crowed a rough voice. "We're gonna have some fun with ya."

Renee bit her tongue almost to blood. It was useless to plead for mercy or to call for help. It was best to stay inconspicuous. Shouting would only attract more miscreants who would welcome a chance to get an additional entertainment at her expense. She knew that silence was the best bet on Tortuga when you were in trouble, but her fright was too great. She shrieked involuntarily, kicking and trying to twist out of the assailants' hands when they tried to restrain her. The bandits were too strong. Their dirty hands with long, broken nails made their way under the skirt, and Renee doubled her efforts to break free, shrieking even louder. The hands gripped her hips tight, and then slipped down her legs and fell away. An echo of a shot rang in her ears, although she missed the sound of the shot itself. She was dropped onto the ground harshly with a dead weight on top. Renee pushed the bandit off in disgust.

The second bandit was beside her with a cutlass in hand. His bloodshot eyes were glaring down the alley. Renee followed his gaze and winced. It was difficult to say who scared her more the bandit or her unexpected rescuer. Half-covered by shadows and leaning on a nearby wall stood a very tall man. He was filthy. Ghostly-white, lose hair strands stuck out in all directions. The man held a bottle of rum he took a swing out of.

"Who the devil ya be!" the bandit shouted in rage. "Why'd ya kill ma mate? I'm gonna cut ya gut open and spill ya guts out into the gutter!"

It took a while for the words to sink in before the stranger replied with a heavy slur, "Why'd I give my name to a dirty pirate? Your crime of assaulting an innocent woman is evident. I brought your mate to justice. So, you can go hang yourself."

With an infuriated growl, the bandit charged. Renee thought he'd run the cutlass straight through the stranger, but at the last moment the targeted man swiftly pushed away from the wall and pulled out his own weapon. With a great strength, he shoved the attacker away and his cutlass cut the air dangerously, barely missing the bandit.

"You want some of this? Get in line!" he shouted.

Was her rescuer so drunk that he saw double or possibly triple? In spite of the gravity of the situation, Renee felt a twinge of amusement. The man was swaying heavily side to side like he was on deck of a ship in a storm, and yet miraculously managing to block all of the assailant's attacks. It was a wonder how he managed to shoot one of the bandits. He could have shot her too by accident.

The pair fought fiercely, blocking her way out of the alley. The bandit's initial advantage diminished as he grew angrier and careless, opening holes in his defences. Sprouting profanities, he charged one more time. His opponent swayed out of the way and ran his weapon clean through the bandit's body. Renee who was trying to sneak around them froze, finding the man too close for comfort. She shrank against the wall.

The stranger regarded her dully. "Don't worry, Miss," he told her. He took another swing of rum from the bottle that he never lost during the fight and fell at her feet into the mud.

Renee recovered from shock quickly. After four years of wondering the streets she became just another rat of Tortuga or at least she began thinking about herself that way. Stay silent, out of the way, and scavenge provisions where you can find them without attracting unwanted attention. Two dead bodies, as horrifying as they were, were still an opportunity. Throwing frequent glances at her rescuer, Renee searched two bandits for coin.

They were fallen men who slipped through the cracks of society. No one would miss them or care when a random passer-by would discover their bodies in the morning. She never cared for taking another's valuables, partially due to superstition, partially in fear that someone might come to claim the long stolen and re-stolen goods, but she desperately needed the money. There was no law on Tortuga to punish her for stealing. However, there was an understanding of might. Whoever was stronger had the first claim to the spoils. There was one judge to them all, death. Renee knew the laws of this world. Money was money, and if she didn't take them, someone else would. Dead men had no need of them, she did. When there was nothing else to take, she rose, intending to escape the scene of the crime.

Carefully, she stepped over the body of her rescuer who lay face down in the mud. She almost felt obligated to thank him, instantly dubbing the thought as insane. It was impossible due to his state, and there was no guarantee that after a drunken heroic fancy he wouldn't hallucinate another fancy where he won't be so honourable, and then she would be in real trouble.

Renee took a few steps through the alley, and then looked back, then took a few more steps away. It didn't matter, did it? He would wake up, remember nothing, he would get drunk again, fall into the mud and let the cycle repeat until someone would kill him and end his useless, miserable life. Except, his life wasn't so useless because he saved her. It was very unusual on Tortuga for anyone to come close to decency or to consider offering a helping hand to another. She looked back. He lay so still that she suddenly felt a twinge of worry that he might suffocate. Perhaps, she should move him to a different location, for her safety too. She had yet to reach her home, not a safe path to go, and the presence of a man with her, dead drunk as he was, might cause others to reconsider attacking her.

"Hey," Renee called out, afraid of her own voice as she came back. "Hey, are you alive?" She leaned over the man and with difficulty turned him over. His shoulder felt like a solid rock. He coughed and mumbled something incoherently. "You need to get up," she said, trying to pull him up by the collar into a sitting position. The bottle of rum pressed into her side. In frustration, she tried to take it away, but his grip on it tightened, and no matter how much she tried, she wasn't able to pry it from his fingers. "Stupid drunk!" she hissed angrily. It would have been smarter to walk away then, but she suddenly felt angry that her entire life had been dictated by foolish events that perhaps could have been thwarted had she shown more will. Because she always gave up too easily bad things continued to befall her. In a fit of stubbornness, she decided not to give up, even if it killed her.

Worn on him, she saw remnants of a sea uniform. Maybe, he was a sailor down on his luck. She remembered that training obtained in military stuck to men for the rest of their lives, no matter how much they were altered by life. It was a far shot, but it was worth it, at least it was better than trying to pull up a dead weight. She wasn't too good with the ranks, so she came up with the first one that entered her mind. "How dare you sleep through your Navy night shift, Commodore!" she shouted right into his ear. "Get on your feet at once!"

She was knocked on her behind when he jumped up with an unexpected speed. He swayed gracelessly at once, but Renee nimbly regained her footing and grabbed him by the collar. "Don't you dare fall again," she warned. Reluctantly, he stumbled after her as she dragged him along. Then he stopped, and once again she was unable to move him. "Now what," she muttered to herself, but he suddenly responded.

"We are on a ship," he told her. "We have passengers on board. Women. Women are good luck. Sailors say its bad luck, but I think it's a supe…stupee…suuu..tition."

"Shut up!" Renee snapped. "If you think you're such a gentleman in charge of a ship, then treat your passengers to something nice, like a bottle of rum."

Seeing him slack in his unmoving position as he tried to take it in, she used the opportunity to guide him along when she felt the bottle press into her hand. She looked at it in amazement and then quickly threw it over the nearest fence.

"No," said the man numbly. "The rum is gone." He followed her sullenly afterwards, clearly offended. "I remember now," he said after a while, sinking into another long pause.

"What is it now?" she prompted. The silence was starting to bother her. When she talked to him the fear of the surroundings dissipated because she was too annoyed to care about anything else. For that she felt a tiny bit of gratitude, even if his contribution to her well being was accidental.

"I remember now why you don't give rum to women. They throw it away."

Renee snorted. "Yes, the rum is gone," she confirmed. "Forget about it."

"My head hurts," he muttered.

"I wonder why!" Her sarcasm might have killed a different man, but this one survived still following her and stumbling.

"The rum makes my head hurt less," he complained. "And it makes me think less."

"What could you possibly be thinking about aside from the next bottle of rum?"

"Nothing, I suppose," he agreed.

For some reason that made her feel bad like she said something unfair. She pushed the guilt away. The man was highly bothersome and it's not like she hadn't stated the truth.

She didn't feel comfortable enough to strike another conversation and he remained silent. She breathed a sigh of relief when the yellow lights vanished as they entered completely unlit part of Tortuga where the night sky seemed friendlier. It was quieter too. Renee was exhausted. The man leaned heavily on her, barely keeping up. He was asleep on his feet. Never had she been so happy to reach her shabby, falling apart home. She pushed the crooked gate open, and led the man in towards a hammock that hung between palm trees. Renee disposed the man into it. Without a goodnight wish, Renee staggered up her home steps and locked the door securely behind her. She was going to deal with this man in the morning, providing he didn't wake up earlier and leave. Somehow, she didn't want him to leave before she thanked him, although it would have made her life easier.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello,

I'm excited to see that this idea of mine has generated a bit of interest! Thank you for all the awesome reviews!

I've completely forgotten to mention this in the description, but this fic will not adhere strictly to canon. There will be some AU, but all in a wistful thinking way where I'll take the liberty of fixing a few interesting details to my satisfaction – trying not to say too much at present. Read and see!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Surprisingly so for her, Renee's dreams have been peaceful. Quite possibly because she drew silent comfort from the vague awareness that there was a man between her home and the entrance gate whom any ill wishing rogue would have to bypass to reach her door, even though Renee attributed her sound sleep to the exhaustion from the events of the previous night.

As the sun rays broke through the cracks in the wall into her room, she considered the daily chores while drowsily tracking the path of a spider that dangled on a stray piece of web from the ceiling just above her bed. But first, providing he was still there, she had to deal with her saviour who inspired a storm of the most contradictory feelings where she no longer knew whether to run as she always did or muster her scant courage and hope that he wouldn't hurt her, unlikely.

As she made the move to confront him, the thin thread of web broke and the spider came tumbling down, falling and falling, nearly landing on top of her hand before quickly scrambling away. Renee liked spiders. They ate numerous disease spreading flies that were far too attracted to rot and far too plentiful on Tortuga spoils. The damaged spider web spun high above her bed resembled her life: fragile, full of empty holes and clinging onto the slowly deteriorating walls of a darkened with age wood.

Her preparation for the morning was not complicated, just donning on the same dress that she wore last night and every night for the past year. Cool, rather pleasant in the hot environment water from the well, to rub the sleep out of her eyes, completed her routine. Armed with clearer wits, Renee approached the hammock where she had left her saviour.

The man was still sleeping. He lay on his back with a hat covering most of his face, thus keeping the sun from waking him. Even in slumber he excluded strength that securer person might have found calming, but for her it was intimidating, especially since his long limbs were far from relaxed. One of his hands lay on his chest tucked under the weapons belt close to the pistol's handle, and the other was pressed into a tight fist. There was something unsettling about his silent presence that sped up her heart beat. It was too agitating for her nerves that already were as high strung as the rigging in a squall; thus, for the peace of her mind it made her wish him gone. Pouring a bucket of water over him to settle his presence was tempting, but it was best not provoke a violent awakening; and, she was loath to admit, she felt too sorry for him to disturb his sleep.

To keep an eye on the man and get her chores done, Renee perched up on a box in the sun to mend her only scarf. Once, it was a shimmering piece of material dyed in rich, chocolate fibre that over the years faded into the colour of mud, the same colour as her eyes and hair. She let the needle connect the torn apart pieces deftly, wasting nothing, and sadly aware that one day there will be more string than original scarf left, and she would have to give it up.

So consumed she became by the task, Renee didn't notice that she was being watched until a shadow fell on her. Having an unfamiliar man, bearing unknown intentions, looking down on her from at least six feet high who caught her unawares was enough to set her heart into her throat. Renee dropped her needlework and clutching the scarf to her chest jumped back from him.

As before, he regarded her bleakly and lengthily, before speaking. "I'm sorry. It had not been my intention to startle you." His voice was hoarse, his face haggard. Greying strands of what turned out a hideously worn out wig gave him an appearance of an aging man which contrasted with a powerful, much younger body.

"Good. No harm done then, so you can go now," she dismissed in a low voice to avoid aggravating the headache he must have nursed, and slowly backed away towards her home.

The man followed, stumbling a little on the stairs. His tired, red rimmed eyes never left her figure. There was something desperate and nearly tragic in the way he asked, almost as if his honour was at stake; a preposterous thought about a man who most likely never heard of such a word. "Please, I must understand how I came to be here, and what happened last night."

"Absolutely not!" Renee yelled as she caught a stray glance at her chest. "I'm not a whore!" As if he was capable of anything else last night other than snoring, which perhaps was unfair to think because it was more of a soft, non intrusive sound, and he was capable of saving her from the bandits.

"I suppose I do not owe you pay then," he opted for a faltering smile, "but perhaps gratitude."

"Listen, last night you've done me a favour by helping me out, and I've done you a favour by getting you off the road. We're even. There is nothing more to say other than peacefully part ways."

She darted away, aiming for locking herself in the next room, but he grabbed her scarf to keep her in place. The newly patched fabric didn't survive the violent struggle and ripped.

"My scarf!" Tears filled her eyes. Renee brought her heel on top of his foot violently for destroying one of her cherished possessions.

The man gasped and released the scarf, completely throwing her off balance. Renee hit her elbow hard against the floor. The pain brought her to her senses. She was completely out of her mind yelling at a stranger who killed two men just last night and then assaulting him physically. She curled up on the floor, coving her head and fully expecting retaliation. He was waiting in silence. The longer he did the more she was afraid. She finally heard two heavy footfalls, and peeked in between her fingers. His boots weren't made of hard leather; perhaps the kicking wouldn't be so bad.

"Have I injured you?"

She had expected anything but that, and stared up at him in bewilderment. Still afraid that it was a trick question, Renee mutely got up, her eyes never leaving his face. His paleness was evident even under the thick layer of mud. Just as she thought that he looked ready to pass out, his knees buckled.

"Not again!" Renee hissed. She nearly fell, accepting his entire weight as the man swayed and half-lost consciousness. It wasn't the first time in her life she had to drag some drunkard home, but she hated it regardless. Carrying a taller person meant that he had to be slung across her shoulder, which wasn't a problem because he conveniently fell into her embrace. Stumbling and barely keeping them both upright, Renee dragged the man deeper into the room where she dropped him onto the couch.

His forehead was burning. Why hadn't she noticed before that he had a fever? All that talk about the ship might have been a dead give away that he was feverish. What if he died? Then, she would have an irremovable corpse in her home. She wouldn't be able to lift him now that he was lying down. Maybe it was best to help him recover and send him away later when he could walk or stand or think coherently.

Renee knew a lot about healing. Her mother was an excellent nursemaid. Years ago, their home had been attacked by bandits. Several people have been injured before help arrived. Her mother nursed them back to health, sitting by their side through the long nights. In the monotonous ticking of the clock and scents of arnica Renee had been introduced to those talents. It had been in another lifetime when the young lady had picked up the basics of nursing. Afterwards, life had forced her to strengthen those lessons.

Herbs and bandages: that, she had plentifully. Renee was skilled at both, patching up her late husband when he more and more often arrived home beaten and drunk, and then herself after his beatings. Vehemently, she pushed away those sorry memories.

This new man was regarding her through his eyelashes. Renee cupped his cheek to make sure he was listening.

"Hey," she called, keeping her voice steady and every word clear. "I want to do something to bring down your fever. Make you feel better. But, if you try anything funny, I swear I'm going to use your own pistol to shoot you. Understand?"

The weak nod she received was reassuring, not that he had given her any other reason to trust him. "Good," she said, leaving his side to gather the supplies.

She mixed sleeping powder into cool water. It wasn't the first time she was using this mixture, but in different circumstances when she wanted to avoid the beatings whenever Adrian came home in one of his worst moods, only part sober and barely rational to contemplate the pitiful state of his life, yet drunk enough to take it out on someone. This wasn't Adrian, Renee repeated to herself as she put her arm around her patient's neck for support and brought the cup to his lips.

"Drink," Renee ordered.

Her patient did so, at first obediently and then greedily. The fever must have parched him. Renee was considering where the fever came from. It could not be a mere alcohol poisoning. She removed the hat and the wig first to examine his head for injuries. To her relief there were none, although she wouldn't have been surprised to find one, considering his weirdest behaviour.

Steeling herself, she unbuckled the belts that crisscrossed his chest and removed them. Faint blush crept up on her cheeks in embarrassment. Why was she charged with duty of removing clothes from an unfamiliar man? She hoped his wound was at least some place remotely decent.

When she unbuttoned his shirt, Renee found a long gash across his ribs that was not from a recent assault. It had not healed properly. The surrounding skin was inflamed. The wound had to be reopened and the infection cut away.

His eyes were still opened, even if unfocused. It was best to warn him. Perhaps he couldn't understand, but her voice might be reassuring. "I have to reopen your wound. It's going to hurt a lot, but you have to suck it up."

She tied his feet and hands together, surprised that he allowed her to do so without putting up a fight. The sleeping herbs must have been doing their job. He was already falling into oblivion. Unfortunately, she had nothing to dull the pain. She couldn't have him bite his tongue off. She put a stick in his mouth, and tied the loose ends of the string firmly at the back of his head.

The tip of the knife glittered dully as she focused on the task ahead. Renee was not afraid of blood. The world was a rot, an infection, which she hated with passion, and cleaning the wound meant destroying some of that filth. She laid her arm onto his stomach, keeping him steady with her entire weight and made several long, sure cuts, unwilling to extend the torture. His breath hitched, and his whole body tensed. Then, violently, he bucked and threw her off.

Dark spots danced in her eyes. It hurt. There was only so much abuse her poor elbow would suffer. She sat on the floor gasping for air until the pain settled, and she cautiously decided that the pain was not bad enough for her arm to be broken. It was only a shock. A thin trail of blood trickled from the freshly opened wound. Few drops hit the floor. Cursing her entire life, Renee put pressure on the wound until the bleeding lessened, covering it with an aloe soaked cloth. She worked meticulously, an operation which the patient tolerated well, only showing occasional sign of pain in the tensing of his jaw. She removed every speck of dirt. The clean wound was packed with comfrey. Renee was certain that the faster it closed the better. Bandaging his torso was impossible, thus she secured the cloth the best she could before removing the gag and untying his feet. She left his hands tied to prevent an accidental brush against the wound.

Once she was done, Renee put her hand on the man's forehead soothingly. "At least the gash doesn't need any stitches," she informed him. His fever was still high, but it no longer worried her. She was confident that he wasn't going to die. He was just sick from abusing his body. Of course he couldn't hear her, having fallen into a state of restless semi-unconsciousness. She must have been simply driven insane from loneliness to take a stranger in and talk out loud to the unconscious man. Why was she feeling sorry for him? Why wasn't anyone feeling sorry for her?

His wig lay abandoned on the table. Her impulse was to throw away the gaudy thing, and then she reconsidered. It belonged to him. It must have meant something to him if he hadn't parted with it yet, perhaps as she hadn't parted with her scarf. His uniform, in rags as it was, was expensive, and only wealthy men could afford wigs. Maybe, she felt that small connection with him: a man and a woman from a decent society who have fallen under the ill influence of the world.

He progressed quickly from the puddle of mud, to her backyard, to her home. If she wasn't careful where else would he get, maybe her bed or her heart? She sneered bitterly at the foolish thought. By tomorrow he would recover, and she would send him on his way, so they would never give each other another thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone,

Just a note of warning: I've decided to rename the heroine from Elaine to Renee. I felt that a new name is more appropriate. Renee means 'born again'. This fits more with the heroine who goes through hardship, thus losing the ability to empathise with the world, and then gets an emotional rebirth by meeting someone and falling in love with them. And she is able to invoke the same in James.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

James was walking through a dark alley, bottle in hand, with the dim outlines of the buildings swaying and tilting before his eyes – a mute world lost in its misery. Even the night couldn't cover its decay. The surrounding filth, faceless doorframes and broken windows reflected the state of his mind and the disdain for all the living. The world had ever abandoned him to deal with all of his pains on his own. It had always leaned on him, silently pleading for support, and he had ever held it up the best he could, never asking for anything back and never complaining. Until one day he broke, and the world that used to lean on him had forgotten him.

It was frequently so that good fortune and fame would draw people in, but a man would be left face to face with his trouble all alone with a broken heart. James had steeled himself to never give a damn about anyone again, vowed only to take and never give back. The more he encountered easy women with glassy eyes, empty of any meaning, and drunken men filled with hatred to the brim like the mugs of rum, the easier it seemed to keep that oath. It was so until he heard a woman scream. His pity induced resolution shrunk into a tight ball of led and was fired away at the bandits. He was taken by a whirlwind of fragments of the last few nights. As his feverish state ceased and the memories settled around him like ashes, he was enveloped by the aroma of herbs that were alluring, yet marred with a tint of bitterness. Realising that the later was not just a part of his imagination James opened his eyes, and felt sick.

"Not again," he heard a low hiss as someone grabbed his hair roughly and pressed his face into a bucket until he sufficiently emptied the content of his stomach. As he was released, James tried to wipe his chin with a sleeve only to discover that his hands were tied together. He glared in the direction of the low thud where a bucket was being set on the floor, just to discover that his abductor was a female. With a matching frown, she stepped towards him and wiped his chin with a rag in one fast stroke, and then glared down on him like she was uncertain whether he was hale or not.

Her eyes had circles around them that at a closer look turned out to be patches of cleanliness. The rest of her face was hidden under numerous smudges of dirt. The nose was small and neat, but marred with a faint imperfection. Having a fighting experience where he had been punched and delivered numerous bruises in return, James was aware that it was not natural dint but a result of a break. The woman's face was strict. The lack of any classical beauty in it was further diminished by a lack of warmth.

His unflattering opinion must have reflected on his face because she snapped, "Not pretty am I."

Had they been attending one of the Governor's balls, James might have denied that statement vehemently, but this was Tortuga. It was refreshing to respond with a curt nod. A whore might have slapped him, whereas a lady would have ran in tears. This woman took the insult with a tightening of the already downturned corners of her mouth, but seemed to agree. Her compliance made him wish that he could have just as honestly and sincerely denied that statement after all.

"Untie my hands please," he requested.

She took it as a command. Reluctantly, she fetched a long knife to cut him free. She kept the knife in her hand and quickly stepped back. James massaged his sore wrists while trying to put in order the numerous, overwhelming questions. He had a vague memory about asking her something which didn't end well.

"Thank you," he said. "How may I address you, Miss?"

She was startled. So was he. On Tortuga everyone demanded your name, whereas no one cared about formalities.

"Ash," she uttered at last. He wasn't sure that she told him the truth. She was choosing the name carefully. Perhaps, she used it so long ago that she might have forgotten it.

"Don't you need to know anything else?" she snapped, interrupting his scrutiny of her.

After spending so many nights fighting rogues both verbally and physically the retort came to him without thinking. "I rather you tuck me in and read me a bedtime story."

"As if I could do anything so fancy as reading." Her face showed disdain for any educational activity as she suspiciously quickly broke their glaring match and stepped away. "I've been busy enough as it is with you. You've been here since yesterday, doing nothing but puking and being a nuisance."

He was glad that she was looking away and missed a flicker of shyness in his eyes. On Tortuga James learned quickly to cover any modesty he had with arrogance because even a hint of hesitation was viewed as a weakness which invited attacks. However, even when he was deeply drunk a part of him, which he kept trying to hide, was deeply embarrassed and begging to be saved from degradation.

James reached out to the top of the chair, which was used as a side table, where medicine stood and picked up a bottle. "No doubt you've managed to keep me subdued spectacularly with the help of this poison," he read the label, "conprey."

"It says comfrey," she corrected, grabbing the bottle from him and settling it firmly back on the chair, but instantly regretting that outburst and once more putting a distance between them as she realised that she underestimated his intelligence.

"You've pretended that you couldn't read," he observed.

"You've got me!"

If she lacked warmth before now she was completely closed off. Their conversation was going all wrong. It was not normal for him to begin speaking with a complete stranger who had done him no wrong this disrespectfully, more so with a woman. "I believe that being able to read is admirable, especially in the less civilized parts of the world."

She sneered at his attempt to right their conversation, but he sensed that it was more defensive than malicious.

"There is nothing good in letting anyone know that you're smarter than them, in case you still haven't figured it out. Otherwise, someone will bonk you on the head with something heavy and knock all that smart right out."

"I would like to see them try," he snapped. "The ruffians need to be shown their place."

The woman almost laughed at him. When was the last time he looked in the mirror, the shrug of her shoulders was asking. He hardly looked better than those 'ruffians'. "Your beard smells like puke," she informed him pettily. "And there isn't enough food in this house even to have mice. I'm going out to get dinner. Don't try to steal anything while I'm gone."

He watched speechless and indignant that she would suspect him of theft as she quickly threw some dirty scarf over her shoulders and left the house. The emptiness in her wake was far more disturbing than her disagreeable personality.

xxxxx

Not pretty. Renee thought about the verdict as she headed to Conney's. The old man's shop was the only place where she could buy meal ingredients that came close to decency without being rotten or spoiled but washed anew to give the grains and vegetables a decent appearance. She used to buy from him when she first settled down with Adrian and money weren't yet becoming a pressing issue, but she hadn't visited in over two years.

The shop with the orange walls maintained some integrity in contrast with the rest of the town. The owner hadn't changed at all, observing the visitors underneath the wide brim of a hat that was set low on his wrinkly as a baked mango face unperturbed, but his long musket was not far from his hand, leaned casually against the counter. Renee's mind was far away as she selected the yuca and leeks, and paid for them with the gold she had taken from her attackers two nights ago. It wasn't necessary to go to this specific shop. She could have been satisfied with a much cheaper meal to make the money last longer, but a part of her wanted to show off to that arrogant patient of hers that she was worth something even if she wasn't a beauty. She had long gotten used to the irrefutable fact, but was it too much to ask that she wouldn't be reminded about it in every conversation. For the first time in years Renee met someone who didn't try at once either to pawn her, rob her or beat her, but even he wasn't able to refrain from calling her ugly. Because this was a man who came close to decency, it hurt even more to hear that from him than when others told her so, even Adrian.

Feeling that she wasn't ready to see the man again, Renee started the fire and set up her improvised kitchen outside, finding serenity in the long forgotten task of preparing a good meal. The knife sliced the vegetables cleanly with monotonous clicks against the board. She hadn't lost the skill. Soon, rich aroma rose into the air, and picked up by the slight breeze floated away. Her effort was certainly tasty enough even to cure the dead, Renee considered as she carefully blew on the ladle filled with soup.

"Good day to you, dear girl."

Her hand just like her nerves jumped, and the ladle tilted, spilling the not yet tasted brew on the ground. With the greatest reluctance, Renee forced a polite nod as she uttered a greeting in the rattling direction of the fake, gold bracelets that decorated the arms of her visitor.

Rosalyn was a mother of seven ever screaming, ever thieving children with snotty noses and numerous bruises from the smacks she had given them and the regular trouble they found in the neighbourhoods. When Adrian was alive, this woman never dared to cross the boundary into her home, but as soon as he was gone, and Renee by accident had dealt once with the old hag, there was no end to Rosalyn's visits. She took something belonging to Renee every time she visited, even when there was seemingly nothing else to take.

The thick bracelets slid down her skin like snakes as Rosalyn extended her arms, getting far too close for comfort. "I was out doing some yard work. You know, with my hooligans there is absolutely no help, only trouble. Everything's on their poor, old mother. But, family is family, and then I thought about my unfortunate, lonely neighbour Renee, and how she is all alone. I thought, I'd drop by and see how she is."

The woman raised her eyes as if the sky was Heaven where she sought immediate confirmation to her goodness. Renee gritted her teeth. The old hag simply smelled the dinner and rushed to grab what she could before it was too late, which was confirmed that she came prepared with a large saucepan.

"So, here I am," Rosalyn crowed. "I'm very happy to see that you've been thinking about your neighbours too since you seem to have a feast, that's surely too much for one skinny girl."

"Actually," Renee began, carefully choosing her words, "I was thinking about…"

Rosalyn's nails sunk into Renee's wrist down to where the pulse was beating. Her yellowish eyes took on an ugly glint. "You were thinking of how to share your fortune with a poor, struggling mother of seven children who helped you ever so much after your husband passed away, haven't you?"

Renee's knees gone weak. She recalled a rumour that Rosalyn had suffocated her sister to death over a string of beads, leaving the bracelet marks over the woman's neck. "You know me too well, Rosalyn," she agreed with her heart in her throat.

The woman's fat, oily lips stretched into a smile. "That's a good girl. You always are," she drawled out. Rosalyn poured almost the entire content of the pot into her saucepan and made away with it, leaving nothing but deep nail marks on Renee's skin.

Never would she be able to stand up to the old hag. Renee almost envied the woman that overbearing impudence that pushed her forward in life unstoppably. Every time, that woman didn't just take a material item but seemed to carry away a piece of Renee's confidence with her.

There was almost nothing left to eat. Renee poured the meagre remains into a bowl, and with her spirits dampened went back to her patient.

He accepted her arrival with a better mood than he had when they parted, not that she was too good at discerning the subtle changes in him. But, he seemed to sense hers and responded without the sarcastic jabs as she brought the pillow to help him into a sitting position.

"Do you have a name?" she asked wearily, passing the spoon and the bowl to him.

"James Norrington."

She hardly heard the response, for the first time noticing that his eyes were green. Not just green, but impossibly green, and open like windows into the sea where lay a sense of liberation with a mix of underlying melancholy.

She couldn't let him see that she was drawn. Renee busied herself with removing the bottles from the chair to sit down beside him as the man hungrily emptied the bowl. Involuntarily, she glanced at his lips when he took the last bites. She felt a stab of hunger. Apparently, he wasn't as consumed by eating as she thought or perhaps he was naturally observant.

"Have you eaten?" he questioned.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said bleakly. "I like myself far more than I like you. Why would I give you my only food?"

"Why?"

"Aren't you good at interrogations." She just wanted him to heal faster and go away; a sentiment that for some reason she couldn't voice. Maybe she had been living in fear too long to voice anything too offensive ever again. Although, she already said enough to offend him, but he hadn't done any harm to her. Nor did he take the bait to argue. She thought he might insist on knowing. She already gathered that he was stubborn and insightful enough to weed information out of her, but he dropped the matter.

"Thank you, Miss Ash. I've enjoyed the soup very much. Your cooking skills are excellent."

Her lips twitched, for the first time accepting a compliment.

"You're welcome."

Maybe he was more welcome than she thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Thieves. It was the first thought to enter Renee's mind as she was woken in the middle of the night by a mild crash. Impulsively, she cradled the blanket around her shoulders, intending to flee, least they shoot her for interrupting their robbery, when she recalled that she wasn't alone.

Soundlessly, she hopped off the bed and cradling the warm material to her body crept to the kitchen where the rustling and the faint sound of breathing was coming from. The house was crisscrossed by the beams of moonlight, seeping in through the windows and cracks in the walls, weaving an illusion, which in spite of the ever present heat made the house seem cold.

Renee crept into the kitchen unnoticed where her patient was methodically rampaging through her empty cupboards and drawers. He was impossible. Judging by his balance, he barely healed enough to move about, yet instead of resting like any normal man would, he had to jeopardise all her attempts at curing him. Renee wanted to call his name, but a nudge of curiosity stopped her. She observed as he reached for a broken door that was hanging in there mostly on a word of honesty. At his touch, it fell off. She had to admit that he had excellent reflexes, grabbing it before it hit the floor. The panicked behaviour and an attempt to reattach it in the dark without the proper tools had her suppressing a laugh as her irritation at him vanished.

"What are you doing?"

Her quiet question hit him like a clap of thunder. He tensed from the tip of his fingers to the bowed head. Slowly, he laid the broken door down. His shoulders slumped. The silence was painful.

"You were looking for a drink," she stated. A feeling of bitter disappointment crept up her insides. It was his life, which she had no right to judge. It was stupid to expect someone she found dead drunk, not to drink; yet, she thought better of him. He sensed it too.

"It's the full moon," he said vaguely. "My urges to drink are the worst when the moon is full."

"Whatever," she muttered, moving closer to him. "You should lie down. Can you walk by yourself or do you want to lean on me?"

Stubbornly, he tried to walk on his own, but inevitably his arm fell to encircle her waist firmly; regardless, he tried to keep most of his weight off her.

"I haven't been thinking clearly."

"Clearly."

She was pressed tight to his side. His heart was beating rapidly through the rumpled shirt against her cheek. The thin layer of the material between them was too flimsy of a wall to keep her from soaking in the nervous tension along with his body heat; nevertheless, together they were better protected from the shadows and moonlight.

"Haven't you ever done anything you could not forgive yourself for?" he asked.

"I have. We are free to ruin our own lives as we see fit."

"If only it had been my own life that I've ruined! I've killed almost nine hundred men just over the course of one night."

In was becoming a habit to touch his forehead whenever she was not at ease with his health. There was no fever. His skin was warm, but not sickly. Frighteningly so, but he was perfectly sane and aware of what he was saying.

"I was in command of a ship in pursuit of a dangerous enemy, and taking grave risks to capture him. Because of it, I've led many fine men into a hurricane. I've repaid the crew who trusted me with the worst leadership. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, not looking away from each man as they followed an order to abandon ship, while knowing that most of them will not make it to shore. Most of them haven't. I've stolen their lives. I've stolen them from their families. I thought I wouldn't survive that night, but fate decided otherwise. When I was recovering at the hospital, their faces and voices haunted me while the moon shone through the curtains. I've begged them to forgive me, but no one heard my pleas. They always haunt me when the moon is full."

Agony, guilt, regret: the emotions were too powerful and too raw for any consolation to cut through them. She couldn't tell him that it wasn't his fault or that she was sorry when she weren't able to be nearly as sorry as he was not having gone through the same experience.

"You know what, this is terrible," she whispered fervently. "Feel free to feel sorry for yourself. If you want to grieve, then grieve. Why in Hell are we told to suppress our feelings when life hurts us? Sometimes, we are desperate to be heard, either to say sorry or to complain, but no one ever gives a damn and no one listens, even if we scream out loud. The world is mute to suffering. Tomorrow, I'll get you a bottle of rum, even two if you want, and you can drink yourself under the table. Just don't expect me to clean up your puke again."

He chuckled darkly, hysterically. He didn't cry, but his breathing was erratic. She sunk her fingers deep into his shoulder: a minor pain sided with a minor lie, told only to fool, temporarily, their mutual loneliness and despair. She pulled him close enough to whisper into his ear, "But, just this night, you are not alone."

He fell asleep eventually with his arms firmly encircling her waist, and she was too tired to attempt to free herself. She stared bleakly into the darkness until the dawn, contemplating why she was helping him when she clearly expected nothing in return. She might have done something like this when she was young and naïve. Maybe, it was an echo of the past coming to mock her, to remind what she could never be.

Renee disentangled herself from her patient's grasp without waking him. She removed the blanket from her shoulders, and tucked it around the sleeping form. Acidic sense in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten in nearly two days.

She picked up the same old basket and her scarf, and left silently. She was going to have to be smarter with money and select a much cheaper dinner this time. The place she had in mind was closer to the center of the town where much brawling and gunfire was heard day and night. She ordered cold meat and fruit while keeping her eyes pointedly down, and avoiding any contact with the scoundrels and whores. She barely suppressed a sigh of impatience when one of the tenants stopped the owner to demand a drink before he had a chance to serve her the meal she was paying for. Renee had long developed an instinct for trouble. She was anxious to get out of the tavern. The pair stalled, arguing. She could get the food elsewhere, she decided, but her way was already blocked.

The tavern door shattered. Under a powerful blow, ripped off the hinges, it flew several feet into the hall. Renee ducked under a table just as several men who tried to resist fell under the sword blows. The intruders, dressed in red and black uniforms, were clearly a professional army. They blocked every exit before the first men killed by them hit the floor. Someone grabbed Renee painfully and pulled her from her hiding place. She didn't resist. The tavern sunk into stupor and ominous silence. Even those too drunk to stand sensed the threat and power the intruders excluded.

"Attention please," bellowed one of the intruders. He was a large, sturdy man with long arms who was first to enter the fray and initiate bloodshed. His face, however, bore traces of handsomeness. There was a hint of a dandy in his carefully twisted moustache, and the confident manner in which he wore the uniform instantly screamed leader. "We're loath to interrupt your drinking, but we're looking for a certain man. Our soldiers will distribute the posters for your convenience. Do try to pay close attention because anyone who assists him in escaping the law or makes any attempt to impede his arrest will suffer one simple punishment – a slow and painful death."

No one was sure what additional problems the intruders may find and lay low meanwhile the soldiers went around with the posters of the man they wanted to find. Several whores were batting their eyelashes at the dashing commander in hopes of escaping whatever punishment may be inflicted on them if they seduce him. Renee was more observant. A man, small in stature, followed two steps behind the striking commander. Judging by a few subtle exchanges, and a subservient manner in which the commander responded, this man possessed significantly more authority. He had been the last one to enter the tavern. In his strict, black attire, he was almost invisible to the crowd, standing in the middle of it while seen by no one. Renee noticed him because she had the same skill; she too knew how to observe. Nothing escaped his steel, grey eyes that searched the room and eventually stopped on her. The cutting intensity of his gaze pinned her to the floor until he beckoned her to come closer. She was instantly released.

Renee obeyed the order, and approached the true master in the room, feeling like her legs were filled with led. He was almost half a head shorter than she was, but there was an unseen aura about him that bent everything to his will. Looking into his pale eyes was like looking into the eyes of a snake - hypnotising, compelling to tell the truth. He held her motionless. She knew, she would inwardly collapse and tell him everything if she kept looking at him.

"I don't have much hope that these drunkards will remember anything we've tried to convey as soon as we leave this tavern, but there are a few people in this sorry state who I believe can be of use to me and of use to themselves in knowing what is good for them," he told her.

Renee nodded. The commander brought one of the posters to her. The picture was difficult to recognise. The military uniform and wig turned him into a man of a completely different status. It was not just the clothes but the unshaken confidence that he was in the right, on the side of justice, edged into his proudly lifted chin and corner of his mouth. However, she had no doubt that the culprit the army was looking for was her patient, who most likely was still sleeping in her home.

"This is former Commodore James Norrington," the master informed her, suddenly losing interest in playing mind games and wasting time. "You will not be interested why we want him, but we do offer a reward to anyone who shows us exactly where he is. One hundred pounds is much to consider."

"It is," Renee agreed. To a poor woman it was a fortune. She could buy the passage off Tortuga. The money would allow her to clean up properly and seek employment in some decent establishment. It would be a poor life, but it would take her out of this Hell. Ironic as it sounded, but in her current state she only knew how to survive on Tortuga. The way she looked, it was true to judge that no decent place would hire her. Even if she left Tortuga, she'd just starve to death on the street in a more civilized part of the world because there would be no way for her to make money other than begging and turning to a criminal world, a choice no better than what she already had. At least here she had a home.

A gloved hand cupped her chin, forcing her to meet the relentless gaze once more. "Think carefully," the master ordered. "Your life may depend on your answer."

Renee wasn't sure whether he saw straight through her attempt to feign ignorance. Possibly, he was simply attempting to extract information from her in the least messy way possible, but would resort to much harsher measures if he thought that she knew something. She couldn't explain why she was reluctant to give James away. The master inspired such fear in her, which she hadn't felt even when one of the buildings where she had worked had been set on fire. Renee in all her years of living in mortal danger had developed an excellent intuition in judging character just by observing a man for a few minutes. This one terrified her, whereas she sensed that James was honourable in spite of his ill state. But, she was too afraid to lie while staring directly into the cloudy eyes that saw almost everything and concealed secrets one was better off never trying to reveal. Her lips parted to make a confession, and then the master blinked.

The soldiers grabbed some unfortunate soul and smashed his head into the table in front of the commander with a loud bang. The master flinched, his attention wavering for a moment to issue an order to cease the racket immediately. The soldiers kicked the drunk away, and he crawled away pitifully on his hands and knees with a bleeding nose.

"I need the money," Renee said quickly. "Providing I locate this man, where can I find you to inform you of his whereabouts?"

"There is a ship, _Venture_, down by the docks. You will distinguish her from the others by the most obvious higher class markings. Inform the crew that you wish to speak with Mercer about our criminal. They will show you where to find me."

Renee lowered her head submissively. "I will do so. Am I free to leave?"

She felt the penetrating gaze once more, and then he waved her free. "Yes."

No one stopped her as Renee passed through the row of the detained. She didn't look back, walking steadily in a straight line to another tavern where she could buy food, no matter how much she wanted to run. Running was not going to get her out of the trouble this time.


	5. Chapter 5

Keep steady. After nearly two hours of wondering the house, James had the most fatiguing need to lie down, which even self inflicted bravado wasn't able to overcome. He hadn't meant to pry. Circumstances urged him to seek the tools to fix the door he had broken last night. He didn't have much experience in repair, but aside from burning the door down nothing else could have worsened its state, thus an attempt at improvement would not have been vain. James discovered great many more doors, walls and hinges that were in a state of falling apart, but not a sight of a tool box to fix them.

Neither were there any mirrors. After giving up on the idea to repay Miss Ash for attending to his injuries, James made an effort to be at least more agreeable to her taste before she came back. Her earlier comment had embarrassed him more than any scorn he recalled recieving from a high society, but his hands had been shaking too much to try until his well being improved. He scraped the beard off with a knife while staring into a distorted image of his face in a healing jar, the consequence of which instantly reflected on his skin in the form of several cuts.

Just as he was completing the self scraping procedure he heard the swift, already recognisable footsteps. They were very light, unlike other women unaccompanied by the rustling of the skirts and slow tapping of the heels. Her approach was betrayed only by a slight creak of the old floorboards. He suspected that he may not hear her at all on a soft carpet.

Miss Ash was distracted. She didn't hear his greeting as she set the basket onto the table and went through it, methodically checking the ingredients. She merely wanted to do something structured to collect her thoughts. Intuitively, he sensed that she was disturbed far more than she showed. Not that he claimed to be her confident, but seeing her behave this way was too unsettling to ignore. Maybe, if the Caribbean Sea decided to freeze over he had a chance at seeing her smile.

"I take it you have forgotten about the rum," he stated from his resting position on the couch loud enough to startle her, but having learned from the past experience, not making an attempt to approach her. "Pity, it would have made me feel so much better."

"Only to quicken your death," she parried even before she recovered the fruit she dropped. The biting remarks were surely an improvement to the flinching as she slowly adjusted to his presence and stopped viewing him as a threat all the time, not that she trusted him more for it.

"Call no man happy till he is dead," James replied gravely. In truth, rum had not been on his mind since last night. He had woken up perhaps not with lightness but a certain relief as if something heavy had been taken off his chest after speaking with this woman last night. He was challenging her to what was becoming a game where she didn't allow him to get drunk. As soon as he had any inclination to grab a bottle, a few words from her put him off it until a different time.

"Allow me a grain of scepticism because Aeschylus was in perfect health, enjoying the wealth of his noble family and fame from his works, and very far from planning to die when he had said that," she answered, finally leaving the basket alone, and now studying him with just as much intensity as she had been looking at the fruit, although the fruit hadn't earned her frown.

"And I thought you'd ask why I am in a hurry to face purgatory."

"You certainly are doing your best to get there. What have you done to your face?" She was picking up the cloth and the balm as she asked so naturally like she had been taking care of him all her life. "Are you trying to get those infected and die after everything I've done to ensure your relative well being?"

"You're exaggerating. I will hardly die from a few cuts." He had been intending to reply humorously, but as she sat down beside him he was taken by melancholy that was mixed into the scent of herbs that surrounded her like an aura.

"You have no idea! A stable hand I've known had cut his foot. The injury developed into gangrene. He died because he refused to treat it, having said the same thing that you did."

"Very well, I've been properly threatened into tolerating like a good patient all the poking and probing," James conceded. Unlike her words, his nurses' fingers were gentle. She was concentrated on the task, frowning just slightly whenever he moved to speak. "However, I couldn't help but notice that your home lacks a mirror. This lack contributed to these cuts," he continued. There was a soft, tingling sensation where her fingers trailed along his face. He could almost suspect that she was a sorceress weaving a spell as the stinging was replaced by a cool, numbing feeling in places of the small droplets of blood. However, not all injuries were healed with a balm and cloth that both of them carried. There was an internal stinging somewhere in her heart, which she brooded over it in silence.

"There comes a time in every woman's life when she looks into the mirror and sees an ugly hag," she confided. "I've had the pleasure of this revelation as early as twenty. One rainy day I've decided that a dinner will do me more good then a mirror and got rid of it."

He might have silently agreed earlier because there was no sense in lying to oneself, but sitting close to her he thought that his earlier observation had been overly critical. She didn't lack warmth. Her expression was closed off, and beyond that sad. He wondered who put that melancholy there. The part of him that remained honourable wanted to right the wrongs done to her. He certainly regretted his earlier non gentlemanly conduct. Not that he was much of a Commodore anymore, but he remained James. Honour was not attached to the title after all. It was his turn to give into gloomier thoughts. He was conflicted between addressing what surely she expected and wanted no apology for and fixing his lack of courtesy. There was no sense in claiming to fix the world made wrongs when he was guilty of some as well. However, all other wrongs seemed easier to fix because they didn't require him to admit to a fault. The unfairness of her accepting the insult so easily decided in her favour.

"Miss Ash, when I said earlier that you aren't pretty, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't good looking. You're average. Stereotypically speaking, only few women are classically beautiful and very few are truly ugly. Usually, every woman has something beautiful about her and something that isn't."

She frowned in confusion as if he was talking rubbish, and then her eyes filled with suspicion. "What do you want?" she asked. The implication was flustering enough to make him stutter.

"Nothing! I mean, I don't mean to say that men wouldn't find you attractive that way, but that's not what I wanted. I just wanted to remark that you have nice eyes."

She shook her head and turned away to rinse the cloth in the basin, but not before he caught a ghost of a smile. Strange little woman. Strange for a woman, of course. He felt like he could tell her anything and she would understand, instead of pretending to while batting her eyelashes at him. There were few women he could speak with about life subjects beyond the regular game of compliments and words as meaningless as ostrich feathers plentifully thrown onto the ball fans and hats. Elizabeth was one of those women who could understand, but she rejected him. He had loved her because he saw where the pretty doll ended and a vibrant soul of a passionate young lady began. Miss Ash wasn't a doll too, but neither could he determine where she has hidden her soul and what her soul looked like.

"I still don't know your name," he commented regretfully more so to himself then truly attempting to find out as she finished treating the cuts.

"It looks like you've got me again." He had no clue what she was referring to, but it was rude to interrupt her midsentence, thus she continued the confession, thinking that he caught her omission. "I lied about that too. Ash is my maiden name. My husband's surname was Gray, but I wish his name burned and forever forgotten."

"You are…"

"A widow."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There is no one happier than I am for that fact."

"I assumed that you have better memories of your marriage because you are still wearing a ring." He gestured to a nearly indistinguishable band around her finger set with a black stone. The decoration fitted her perfectly, invisible enough that no thief had been seduced by it. The band had been worn out so thin that it looked ready to snap.

"This is my grandmother's ring. When I was five years old, she told me that it has magical properties. She claimed that it will bring me comfort in times of trouble when I will need it the most. She was making up fairy tales for an impressionable child. I've never seen it do anything special."

"Why do you keep it then?"

She must not have considered this question before. All her life appeared to be so bleak that she was genuinely surprised to reveal that there was still something she held dear. "Wearing this ring means that I have a history. I suppose, it provides me with a sense of who I am, which is comforting in itself."

"Then it is magical after all," he told her, and once more was treated to an elusive smile that was gone all too fast. When she spoke it was as if she was catching and bringing the words to the surface that were lost deep within her. She was making an effort to reveal her feelings just for him, which was flattering, but it also embedded a sense of responsibility to treat that revelation respectfully.

"I need to check your wound," she claimed.

Maybe he had been too ill before to notice how intimate and how inappropriate it was to have her removing his shirt or maybe because he saw her as more than a cold, calculating being, but her touch brought heat to his face. "I'm healthy enough to check it myself," he hurried to assure her, moving just a notch out of her reach. Her hands dropped onto her lap, and she shrugged, accepting his refusal.

"In truth, I hadn't caught you on a lie," he confessed to stall her leave as she rose to allow him privacy. "I've been inquiring about your first name." It was difficult to tell under the layer of dirt, but she seemed to have coloured as well.

"And you've let me think otherwise! You're shameless!" she threw down the cloth and stormed away.

A crumpled paper fell out of the folds of her skirt. James picked it up and put it into his pocket impulsively as he rose to follow her. "Miss Ash," he called before she disappeared once more.

"Renee," she corrected, stopping abruptly like she had no strength to run. "You might as well know it too."

"I'm sorry if I pried."

"You haven't, not really. I told you voluntarily. I feel like I can hide nothing from you. You asked last night whether I've done any mistakes I've regretted. I was eighteen and stupid, but thought that I was old enough to judge a good man from a bad one when former Mr Gray appeared in my life. My parents saw him at once for what he was, a scoundrel who wanted our money. But I didn't. Due to family disapproval we were meeting under false pretences. When my parents found out, they set an ultimatum that he must leave and never disturb us again; otherwise, they've threatened to have him thrown into jail. This swayed my decision to elope with him to this place, which at first looked like a palace in my delusional fancy. I loved him. I loved my family. I kept praying that both parties would reconcile. I kept writing to my family and begged them to reconsider. My mother was writing back to convince me to return without him, but all for nothing. At first, we lived off the money that Adrian had stolen from my home. Working was beyond his dignity. The money grew scant. My mother stopped answering my pleas. When it became apparent that my parents will not relent, Adrian became grim and withdrawn. He was frequently out in town getting drunk, then he was coming home beaten, then he began beating me. One day, he didn't return. There was an out of control fire in a pub he frequented, several buildings burned down, and there were many casualties. I've seen the smoke from my home. I waited for him for a month, unsure whether he would be back or not, mostly afraid that he would. I was so happy when I've realised that he was gone for good. I'm still happy about it. But even with him gone I'm stuck in this Hell. I can never leave this place. Never."

As she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes. He listened, and felt useless by being near her, but unable to speak or touch. He was torn between offering comfort and propriety which demanded that he kept distance from a woman who hadn't asked for reassurance. Renee made a choice for him. "I think you should really check your wound," she requested, brushing her sleeve across her eyes. "You will find all the items you need in the next room."

James didn't insist and left her as she requested. He understood what it meant to hang onto one scant bit or pride, avoiding any further embarrassment like plague, and her need to be alone.

The room with a dark brown couch and a crude chair was becoming his living quarters. He looked at the door just to be sure that she hadn't followed and began to remove his jacket, when his fingers encountered a crumpled note. James unfolded it to smoothen and bend it properly when capital letters 'wanted alive' caught his attention. But, it was the picture of the man whom East Trading Company wanted to capture that made him forget about all his wounds as James looked into the eyes of his former self.


	6. Chapter 6

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! I'm glad to have you reading! Thank you for all your reviews! I tried to polish the next chapter just for today, although it is not as romantic as the occasion deserves, but hopefully engaging.

Hearts!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

It was not the fear of impeding danger that kept James wide awake in the middle of the night, for he had enough courage to face threats and battles, but indecision and wonder. He waited through the day, and was left at a loss why Renee never told him that he was a wanted man. Confronting her had been a first impulse, quickly thwarted by realisation that he was not in immediate danger. Renee could have led to him whoever had given her the poster, yet she chose not to, and he hadn't been able to broach the subject. It would have been cruel to interrogate her after she had spoken about her past and most likely cried when he wasn't looking.

James didn't believe that she was the East Trading Company's spy, although it was tempting to leave at night; an advantageous plan when she wouldn't have been able to track him. However, sneaking out like a thief was making him feel awfully guilty, possibly so because it was cowardly after he hadn't been able to tell her directly that his presence was endangering her and he was leaving without delay. Not used to wavering in his decisions, James located his weapons and headed for the door, then stopped when his fingers touched the handle, which reminded him about another door he had broken. Maybe, he should make sure that Renee was all right first. The air brushed along his sweaty palm as he released the handle.

Renee's room was the only place James hadn't entered before. It was bare with the exception of a large bed by the window where she slept curled up into a tight ball in her clothes. The night concealed all dirt, leaving only a lithe silhouette and refined features. With her defences down, she appeared most vulnerable. This was a woman who needed protection from herself and from the outer world. She was not candid. Yet, she healed his wounds and sat with him through the night when he was haunted. Judging her harshly was easy because she didn't try to be likable. She didn't flatter him nor say that she wanted his company, but she has given him her only blanket and shared her last food while going hungry.

He didn't want to leave her yet. James returned to his couch, gathering the blanket and pillow to return them to their owner. Renee instinctively cradled the pillow to her chest as he placed it into her reach. James threw the blanket over her and brushed a long strand of hair away from her face, just for an instant having a feeling of contentment wash over him from one caring gesture. He might have forgotten, but human beings weren't meant to be cruel, sometimes they just needed a reminder. He sat down on the floor at the foot of her bed like a guardian, waiting for the dawn and uncertain whether he wanted it to come.

XXXXX

Renee woke up, feeling far safer and content than she had been when she was falling asleep. It was a habit to use intuition to feel her surroundings before announcing her awakening. Renee sensed that she was covered with a blanket at first, secondly she was not alone, and someone was holding her hand. The identity of her benefactor became known as she peeked through her eyelashes into a bright room.

James was sitting on the floor by her bed at a discrete distance, although his fingers were intertwined with hers. Discretely looking at his strong profile, she had to admit that shaving the beard off had not only improved his looks, but made him seem more trustworthy. This was a handsome man. She couldn't remember how he came to be there. Was it possible that she too suffered a nightmare as he had? Regardless, this was a poor reason to be sitting on the floor. She was going to scold him for taking a risk to fall ill again, when James noticed that she was awake and placed a crumpled poster on the bed between them. "We must discuss this," he stated simply.

She reached for the poster slowly, and smoothed it, and then rubbed sleep from her eyes, but these minor delays were senseless when she had been startled and completely unprepared because she expected to bring up this subject before he did.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Both James and Renee bolted upright. Renee jumped off the bed hastily and ran to the door before her unwelcome visitor reached the room and saw who she had for company. She almost bumped into Rosalyn's chest.

"Good morning," Renee told her as she blocked the woman's attempt to go any farther, and gestured her to follow. "Please come in. I was just on my way to the kitchen. I was about to have breakfast."

This must have been the reason for Rosalyn's visit because she readily followed. Normally, she hadn't pestered her neighbour more than once a week, but perhaps her week hadn't been a good one because she came again. "I thought you didn't look too well, Renee, last time I saw you. I dropped in to check how you are. But, I'm certainly glad for breakfast. Don't mind if I keep you company."

Renee barely concealed amusement as she gave Rosalyn a confused look. "Oh, are you intending to accompany me to town? I have work at the pub, that's where I'm planning to eat. I'd love to treat you, but I have absolutely nothing left. You understand how dangerous it is to keep anything of value with all the thieves and beggars around." Normally, Renee would have tried to appease her neighbour, but she was desperate to get Rosalyn out of her house. Under a very suspicious scrutiny, as Rosalyn contemplated whether there was a hidden insult to her or not, Renee picked up her scarf and basket, and made a show of planning to leave.

Rosalyn examined Renee like a predator, clearly looking for something to take out on her disappointment. The greedy search fell on the ring. Rosalyn instantly grabbed Renee's wrist, bringing the jewellery to light for the inspection. Renee barely managed to squeeze her hand into a tight fist, thus saving the ring from being torn off.

"What a lovely ring you have there," Rosalyn announced, trying her best to pry the hand open. She judged the ring worthless, but she had to show this girl who had more power. "Don't be silly. I'm not going to do anything. I just want to see it."

"I think it will be better to see it while I'm wearing it! Truly, it's unremarkable, and not worth the trouble to get it off. It's very, very tight," Renee argued, struggling in vain to twist her hand out of the avid grasp.

"Let me help you get it off then. It's not healthy to have something attached to you so strongly."

Renee yelped in pain as the hold became increasingly painful with each of her tormentor's fingers, thicker than bones in her wrist, squeezing her hand to a breaking point. Rosalyn's nails scraped her skin to blood with one sinking right next to the vein where a subtle beat of her heart ran. One by one finger, Rosalyn pried the fist open, but she never got the ring.

"Let her go at once," she heard a sharp command that was reinforced by a masculine, and entirely too dangerous, hand on her shoulder.

Rosalyn had a very good intuition when it came to power balance. She instantly released her victim. Two women were pulled four steps apart as James stepped between them. His full attention and frown were directed at the unwelcome visitor. He didn't raise his voice, but there was a low, authoritative intonation that none who wanted to preserve their well being disobeyed.

"I believe it is customary to knock prior to entering anyone's home, otherwise it may be interpreted as a sign of bad manners," he informed Rosalyn. Unmistakably so, he did think it was bad manners, and looked threatening enough to ensure that it never happens again.

"Of course it is. Of course it is," Rosalyn assured him quickly. She twisted herself out of his reach, hunching her shoulders, shrinking almost in half, more than ever before resembling an old, shrivelled hag than a woman who took up almost entire space due to her arrogance and energy. "I wouldn't dream of doing so. It's just that dearest Renee is like a sister to me. Never thought there'll be harm. I didn't want to disturb whatever she was doing and let myself in. I had no idea that she has company. Wouldn't have ever, ever came had I known that someone else was here." She kept talking as she inched backwards, but before she could set her foot outside, James caught up to her in one smooth move and trapped her momentarily against the porch.

"I don't believe there is a need for you to return ever again," he informed her. Rosalyn had no choice but to look directly into his eyes. She swallowed hard and nodded swiftly several times.

Watching Rosalyn run, left Renee bitterly disappointed, although she was happy to be rid of her forever. Renee always thought that this woman had strength to command others, but Rosalyn was as much of a coward as she was. Renee expected Rosalyn to shout, spit and argue with James, but she merely fled.

"You've saved me again," she commented.

Her tone, lacking any joy, seemed like she didn't appreciate interference. "Fear not, I won't ask you to marry me as my reward," James assured her, stung, not that he ever thought that it was an obligation to feel gratitude. "However, we are not done with the poster. I would like an explanation. How long have you known that law enforcement is looking for me, and why haven't you told me about it?"

He was still frowning. Renee folded her hands on her chest defensively, but replied. "I've only found out yesterday. I didn't think you were well enough to ask you to leave. I thought that there was no risk. No one had seen me bring you here in the middle of the night." She swallowed hard, afraid, finding an explanation for her neighbour's suspicious behaviour. "Rosalyn. This is why she ran so fast. She figured out who you are. She is going to tell the soldiers to get even with us."

He had to leave at once. Renee looked around the room desperately, wondering what could help him escape, noticing at last that he already had his weapons. But, he still wasn't leaving. James grabbed her shoulders to stop her from running around aimlessly.

"I must know who is looking for me. Tell me everything you know."

"I don't know much! The man who interrogated me called himself Mercer. His ship _Venture_ is at the docks. I'm begging you, just run! If they find you here, we will both be executed!"

"You are not coming with me?"

No one was coming yet, she would have heard, but she felt like the door would burst open any second and the frightening master with the steel grey eyes would appear before her and make her pay the price of all her life's mistakes a hundred times over. The mere thought made her feel faint. It was like trying to flee from a monster that had the ability to appear anywhere anytime to claim his victim.

"I have no strength to run. I cannot outrun an enemy this powerful. I can only try and trick them."

"Please reconsider. This opponent may be too cunning to believe you," James implored, but Renee shook her head. His hands slipped away from her shoulders along her arms, and he released her. "Fine, Renee. I cannot take you with me by force. But, I swear this – I will bring back what I've once had, and then I will return for you."

She smiled sadly, and shook her head as if his words were nothing but a fairy tale. "I will not wait for you. I will not call for you. The disappointment will be bitterer than I can suffer."

He didn't say good bye. She watched him go with a sharp ache in her heart. Then, he was gone, and she was left alone with her fears, waiting.

She heard the soldiers' approach from far away. The neighbourhood dogs went into frenzy. They barked furiously whenever intruders invaded their territory. This disruption rolled across the streets down to her house. Every heavy footfall against the creaking stairs prepared her for a forceful knock.

Renee opened the door. She was grabbed by two pairs of hands and slammed against the porch. A large hand covered her mouth and nose, obstructing her breathing. The soldiers charged past. Instantly, they've searched the house top to bottom.

"Empty," one of them reported.

The hand was removed from her face, and Renee saw that the commander in person came to make the arrest. They wanted to catch James badly enough. The commander smashed his gloved, set with the iron clasps, fist into her face prior to questioning.

"Where is he?"

Renee swallowed the copper trail of blood, and opening her eyes wide stammered, "I'm terribly sorry! I kept trying to find him, but I just haven't been able to locate him! Please, tell Mr Mercer that I will find that criminal. I swear I will! Just give me more time!"

She looked stupid and bewildered enough for the commander to drop his arm and ask, "What the devil are you blabbering about woman?"

"You are looking for a criminal, aren't you? The one on the poster! I remember you from yesterday, commander. You were oh so handsome! I ought to remember someone as handsome as you. Mr Mercer said that you were looking for a criminal, and I promised to look and look, but I haven't seen him, honest, but I want the reward, so why wouldn't I tell you immediately where he is if I knew where he is?"

The commander's eye twitched a little in irritation, and then recognition set in. "You're that woman Mercer talked to yesterday. But, we've been told by your neighbour that the criminal is hiding at your house."

Renee dropped on her knees. She crossed herself, and then spat on the ground, making a deadly serious declaration that she was telling the truth. "Rosalyn? Are you talking about that old witch? Please, please, please! That woman is just being spiteful because I didn't give my ring to her! She wanted to steal it. She is making it up to get me into trouble. Why would there be any man anywhere near me? Look at me, no man would want me!"

Her begging seemed genuine enough because the hold on her slackened from painful to tolerable as the commander weighted her words. "True enough. You aren't much to look at," he conceded. He had lost most of his deadly zeal now that nothing went according to plan, and his target was no longer there. He began to doubt whether this woman was guilty or not, although moments ago her was sure that she deserved to be arrested. He had strict instructions, however, to station arrests and executions, even in doubt. "I have to be sure that you're innocent before I let you go," he declared, turning away from any further protest, and barked an order at the soldiers. "To the jail with her."

The soldiers pulled her up, but Renee's knees buckled. She was dragged along the ground as she continued to sob and beg to let her go. The last she saw of her house was an abandoned porch with her scarf hooked on a splinter, torn and left behind forever.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey everyone,

I'm sorry for the delay between the chapters. It seems that the pirates have abducted my inspiration and commandeered it away. Hopefully, James will soon catch them and bring my inspiration back.

Remember, I've warned you about the AU.

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><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

In all likelihood, more soldiers were occupying the island than there were needles in the haystack where James was strategically waiting out yet another party of the black and red coats that went poking around tirelessly. After leaving Renee, he had barely avoided several traps, eventually travelling to the other end of the island in search of a ship without much luck. Someone wanted to find him badly enough to cut off all the escape routes. He had been evading the capture for five days that were busy enough to forget about the alcohol and sleep, but not without a purpose. He learned that a notable figure, Lord Beckett, was behind this uproar. James suspected that a man that important was not interested in a former Commodore. Most likely, he wanted someone James used to know. His immediate thought went to Sparrow out of habit to blame him for everything, but then James dismissed it. Surely, no one could be that troublesome as to ruin his life even more so after ruining it. Who Beckett was looking for, James intended to ask directly on his own terms without getting dragged to him like a prisoner. However, the opportunity to get a one on one meeting did not present itself. Beckett had taken precautions to ward himself from any unexpected visitors.

While the soldiers kept looking and James kept thinking about nuisances, a black cat approached the haystack and sniffed it curiously. James threw a severe look to discourage such behaviour, but the fish smelling furball wasn't too good at distinguishing the human looks of disapproval and chose to jump onto the hay where it proceeded to purr and rub against the human. James pushed the persistent feline away just as one of the soldiers glanced at the hay and noticed his hand. Suspiciously, he pointed his bayonet outward and advanced slowly to the hiding place: a step, then another, and a few more until the tip of the weapon glittered dully only an inch from James' face.

James grabbed the weapon, spinning the soldier around him in a circle, and sharply released the barrel to let him fly into the group of comrades. James hopped on top of the pile up, reaching upwards to climb onto a wooden bar. A hat flew off his head, shot down. He jumped onto the next bar where he saw a sack filled with sand. A choking cloud filled the barn as he upended it onto the people below. He jumped down, pushing past the coughing soldiers to the street, but not yet to freedom.

Followed by pistol fire, James sprinted away. People screamed as he rushed past them, pigs oinked, dogs barked, chasing him better than the soldiers, and leaving a long and lasting trail on his wake that even the dullest pursuer could have followed. The longer he ran, the larger became the pursuing crowd until he was cut off from the heart of the town where he could have hidden. James turned to the docks and the open sea. He kicked down all obstacles in his way, including a large basket of fish as the edge of the dock grew near, but he also saw a ship casting off the mooring lines, ready to depart. James gathered the last bit of strength and ran faster. He grabbed the remaining line that was negligently left overboard.

He heard the familiar sound of the soldiers dropping down on one knee, their muskets lining up to shoot. Barely, he avoided the first volley by swinging leftward, which was followed by an order to fire at will. The ship's hull blistered in holes all around him. Someone forcefully tugged the rope, dragging him upwards. The crew returned fire, although the battle did not last long. The ship quickly left the dock far behind, and a sturdy hand was offered to bring James over the railing.

"Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, mate."

Greying sideburns, and a round face that could have been considered kindly had the frequent alcohol consumption not left its degrading mark, James recognised at once. He had learned a great deal about Sparrow's crew during his pursuit of the pirate.

"Mister Gibbs?"

The man opened his mouth like a fish out of the water. In all fairness, James was just as startled, but concealed it better. Gibbs crossed himself trice. "Commodore?" he stammered.

"Indeed," James sneered, taking note of the black sails and company, which he hadn't had time to consider nor be picky about while running for his life.

"And I thought we've been saving someone worth savin' from the gallows, considering how all those men were chasing you and all," Gibbs muttered, taking a swing out of his flask.

James ignored his babbling and pushed past the former boatswain, searching the deck. The ever faithful sidekick couldn't be far from…a scrawny, walking bush with a pair of two booted feet stood out from the rest of the crew.

"Sparrow!" James bellowed. "What are you doing here?" In spite of being surrounded by pirates, he pulled his pistol out and pointed it at the sneaking pest.

Realising that the bush no longer provided sufficient cover, Jack dropped it and hid behind a mast. "No, what are YOU doing here!" Jack exclaimed. He peeked around the mast, and James instantly shadowed his move with the pistol.

"No. What are you doing here?" James insisted.

"What are you doing here?"

"Attending your funeral, so it seems."

"Hold it!" Jack tapped his chin nervously, which he did whenever he was thinking hard under pressure. "I'll tell you if you so insist. I am the Captain who is doing the Capitanly like things, which former Commodorly types need not know about, but which are perfectly and legally allowable for the Captainly type to be doing," Jack assured as James rolled his eyes at the word 'legal.' With his foot, Jack dragged a nearby bucket towards himself, and covering his head with it peeked once more from his hiding place. "This brings us to a happy conclusion that it is perfectly natural for the Captain to be aboard his ship, which cannot be said for the former Commodorly types who should be persuaded by all means detestable to leave the ship at once and swim back to port."

"Try and you will be hitting the water dead first," James stated coldly. Both men stood at a standstill, glaring murderous shots at each other, neither willing to compromise under the watchful eyes of the crew.

"I think he's bluffing," said Pintel uncertainly. "If he wanted to shoot the Captain in a fit of a murderous, vengeful rage, he'd have done it already. Let's get him!"

"I disagree. If he believes that we'll kill him regardless, then at least he'd fancy taking the Captain with him," said Ragetti, grabbing his companion's sleeve and pulling Pintel back. "It'd be stupid to get the Captain killed while trying to save the Captain."

"Are you calling me stupid?" Pintel exclaimed, ready to defend his opinion to death now that it has been disagreed with.

"No. I'm calling the plan to get the Captain killed while trying to save him stupid," Ragetti clarified.

"Which essentially is calling me stupid because I'm the one who came up with it!"

"Oh," said Ragetti, rubbing his eye in contemplation and then giving Pintel the benefit of the doubt. "I better make a stupid call then than follow a stupid plan."

"You what!" Pintel yelled, grabbing Ragetti's throat and tackling them both down underneath the other men's feet. The pirates didn't need much encouragement to start a fight with gunfire and sabres involved, meanwhile Jack and James stood unmoving in the middle of it.

The fight was interrupted by a woman appearing on deck. Her shrill voice cut into the middle of the fight, demanding for violence to cease immediately, much in vain until she fired cannon, forcing everyone's attention on her. The only pirate who didn't cease had a bottle smashed over his head, and silence descended. The woman took in the chaotic picture, eventually spotting James in the middle. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Elizabeth." As always, James lost himself in her presence, despite those ethereal feelings being marred by loss. She remained the same. An absence of a beautiful dress, with her hair, which used to be set in fashionable curls, now hanging in loose stands, and a triangular hat decorating her head, changed nothing. Fire still burned in her eyes. He still would have done anything for her.

Encouraged that James lowered his weapon, Jack lowered the bucket and sauntered over to Elizabeth. "Lizzy!" he exclaimed. "How glad I am to have you join us, unlike some unwelcome types who I intend to return to the proper authorities for a handsome reward."

The woman swallowed a mouthful of air in indignation. "If you have any sense of shame and decency you will not!" she claimed, much to Jack's amusement.

Seeing that his shooting has been postponed, he grinned like a man entirely pleased with his life and tapped his chin contemplatively. "I might've heard those two words somewhere," he informed her, pretending to recall a very distant fact. "Didn't like them much. Waved goodbye to them happily."

"You have better remember them, providing you want the you know what to point in the direction of your liking," Elizabeth threatened, putting an arm on her hip where hung the broken compass as James threw a glare full of scepticism at the arguing pair.

"No," Jack commented. "You want the you know what to point in the direction of your liking because the life of your dearly beloved depends on you know what pointing in the direction of your liking. As we both have established that between the two men, whom you are trying to save, you will not choose this one, rightfully so, I am yet to be convinced."

The speech only earned him a slap in the face so hard that he dropped the bucket. "Objection established. Considered. And Granted," Jack commented with a painful grimace, rubbing his abused cheek. He threw a wide, gracious gesture towards James. "Welcome to the crew!"

"You have better keep to that statement." Elizabeth threatened. Sharply, she turned on her heel away from the crowd that was rapidly losing interest once the conflict was resolved. The present company didn't seem too welcoming, and James followed the only person who was not considering his murder after one last glare at Sparrow. The Captain was pretending to be busy with the running of the ship as he watched James vigilantly out of the corner of his eye, not entirely convinced about his safety even if James was no longer pointing any weapons at him.

Elizabeth was walking swiftly, completely at ease among the crew like she commanded them, and men were stepping out of her way. She headed below the deck, where they could be left relatively alone. She stopped abruptly, and then turned to study James' face closely, doubtful that this was him she was truly seeing. "Commodore James Norrington, what has the world done to you?" she asked quietly.

No answer seemed necessary. It must have been due to sadness, very much unlike the passion burning in her, that Elizabeth's brown eyes reminded him about another woman. A surge of warmth fluttered in his stomach, chasing away some of the nervousness, but not shame. He forced himself to keep his gaze steady.

"So, this is the great hero of Port Royal." Elizabeth had always been painfully blunt, but not lacking compassion. She couldn't hide her bitterness. When he didn't reply again, she swallowed her disappointment and touched his hand, perhaps with greater gentleness than he had ever been shown before. "James, the people of Port Royal miss you. I've heard them, and if only you could have heard them speak how well their lives have been when you were protecting their home town, and how much they want it back."

She was looking at him like it was in his power to fix those lives, a ridiculous notion that he might have believed in before disillusionment. How could he help them when he couldn't help himself? "The world has changed not due to my absence, but because it has become more cruel." The words came out sharper than he intended. He was more upset that he felt powerless to change anything than because she had shamed him. "Perhaps this is a wake up call to face reality."

The world turned black. Elizabeth and James disappeared.

"Wake up!"

Heavy, muck covered boot smashed into her face, bringing Renee into painful reality. She threw her arm across her face protectively, and with difficulty due to the agony from the kick, peered at her jailer.

It was Commander Brown. His face was set grimly and unforgivably in contrast to the half annoyed but unthreatening with violence expression when he was locking her in the cell. Her lies must have failed, considering his thunderous expression. He knew that she had nearly fooled him. "Get up," he barked an order. Her joints were throbbing dully after spending several days on the cold ground in the Tortuga jail. Seeing that Renee wasn't following his command quickly enough, Brown pulled her up by her hair and shoved her towards the exit. "I suggest you tell no more lies, woman," he told her with a great satisfaction that could only have come from knowing that she was soon to be punished severely. "Lord Beckett wants to see you."


	8. Chapter 8

I've finally had a chance to edit the new chapter, but unfortunately due to a twisted ankle, which contributed to me missing a day of work and sitting on a couch all day in pain. I haven't given up on this fic, but due to the inspiration block I'm only managing to write bits and pieces that afterwards need a lot of rearranging and polishing. I'll try to hang around this site more because it's a good place for reading and writing. Thanks for reading and commenting. =)

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Renee was escorted up to the jail's ground level that consisted of one spacious room pierced by unpleasant draft and littered with brown bottle shards. The place was as much neglected as justice that had long deserted it. No fair trial was to be found here, only tyranny.

The man who represented power stood out in great contrast to the rest of the decay. He was dressed richly with pretence to nobility, everything but a pair of heavy boots, underneath which a large piece of glass crunched and broke down as he made a step forward when the prisoner was led in. He seemed impenetrable to feelings with the exception of despise for his surroundings demonstrated by a careless flicker of his cane as he idly pushed some junk out of his path.

"I'm glad you could join us, Miss Gray," he greeted with what could have been mistaken for cordiality had it not been for an icy, blue chill in his eyes that spoke volumes how far beneath him Renee stood.

"Thank you, my Lord." Renee didn't know yet who she was dealing with, but she recalled the title prudently used by the jailer. Her initial impression stood that this man would not tolerate any lack of respect for his station. She bowed her head submissively and observed the dirt with a seeming dullness, although her mind was racing.

It didn't take him long to make up his mind about her before he spoke, "Your absence of curiosity intrigues me. Normally, those brought before me demand to know where they are, who I am, threaten me with law, which assumingly is on their side, before hearing an answer to their previous inquiry, and make so much unnecessary noise."

"It matters not where I am, but who is in charge, and how I can be useful to them," Renee told him, discarding simpleton's pretence. A man who learned her full name so soon could not be fooled by it. "I have no desire for pain. I will cooperate with you the best I can."

"Such sincerity," he stated in monotone. The notes on indifference seemed to invade the space between them softly, like cat paws coming closer before releasing the claws. "Had I known nothing about you I might have considered your proposal. I wish I could believe you. However, Mercer has given me a very interesting characterisation of you. I'm impressed. You've done an outstanding job deceiving him. Very few can achieve that, mind you."

She didn't need to see him to feel Mercer appear behind her. On her back, she sensed the hypnotic intensity of his gaze boring into her. "I wouldn't dare lying to any of you, my Lord," Renee assured Beckett quickly.

Beckett's face changed meanly, serving as a silent command. The soldiers twisted Renee's hands behind her. She didn't resist, denying them the opportunity to strengthen their restraint until she'd be lost like a spider caught in her own web of half truths.

"Have you truly believed we wouldn't find out that a man matching the criminal's description was seen heading away from your home on the day he had been reported by your neighbour? Or, perhaps, you have forgotten that incident."

There was a silent exchange between Beckett, standing in front of her, and Mercer lurking a step behind her. Something cold pierced her side violently. A cry of pain escaped her. Renee didn't fight an anguished scream until a slap across her face put an end to it.

Mercer was hovering near. He was wiping her blood from his stiletto with a cloth. A dark, satisfied expression flickered in his eyes, meant only for Renee, missed even by Beckett.

"This is not a serious wound," Beckett stated, not the least bit perturbed by violence. "No vital organs have been touched. It will heal, most likely, without unfortunate side effects. However, it will bleed you dry very soon unless I hear absolute truth immediately."

Renee made the instinctive mistake to cradle her wound. The soldiers hardened their hold, denying her self aid. Her blood dripped freely down the folds of her dress onto the floor. She had to give in; else she would bleed to death under Beckett's heavy as a tombstone gaze. "Norrington did spend a few days at my home," she confessed urgently. "I didn't know that it was the same man when you've asked me at the tavern. The portrait was rich and sophisticated, whereas the man was all filthy. I've known him only for a few days. Few nights ago, he helped me when some thugs tried to hurt me. I suppose, I owed him one. He was sick, so I've helped him. He had only spent a few days at my place. Then, he left. When I figured out that it was him, I was afraid to tell you because I thought you'd think I've concealed him from you on purpose, but I hadn't."

"A lovely story," Beckett replied indifferently. Thin trail of blood reached his boot, and he moved his foot an inch out of the way. "I do not believe you."

The world blinked out of focus, and Renee concentrated on the blood, trying to think of a saving lie. Lies were always more believable because the world preferred them. "All right, fine, he was my man, though there isn't much to say about it. He came about once or twice a week. He was mostly drunk as a pig. But, he treated me well enough, and chased away other perverts. I liked him fine enough, as much as it's possible to like anyone in this dump, but certainly not enough to put him ahead of myself. I will sell him out to you, just don't hurt me."

The soldiers released her, and she pitched face first into the ground. A cloth was dropped in front of her. Renee snatched it and pressed it against her wound, observing her tormentor though a curtain of uncombed hair.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Beckett murmured in satisfaction. "All the encouragement you've needed was a bit of pain. Pain always brings the truth." As his musings seemed to elicit no response, Beckett pushed Renee's hair out of her face with his cane. He looked straight into her eyes. "Tell me everything you know about Norrington, like your life depends on it. Everything he said, did, and even breathed."

If only she had the slightest clue what this man wanted to hear, but he gave away nothing, not even through questions. "Would you attach yourself to a whore so much so as to share your secrets with her or even think twice about her once you've parted," she questioned.

"I wouldn't. But, Mr Norrington is a different matter. Quite a noble one, he is, or at least he was. As far as I know, he might think he must marry you now that he had you."

Beckett allowed a short laugh, and the guards dutifully laughed as well. Indignation that they would befoul the only noble man she had known in years sparked her hate. Renee said nothing, but something must have reflected in her eyes because Beckett remarked coldly.

"Do keep lowly opinions to yourself. I ask one last time how you can be of use to me."

Renee desperately wrecked her mind for something believable that this man wouldn't be able to check even with his net of inquisitors. His pupils retracted to a pin point. Beckett was close to giving an order to kill her. Renee latched onto the nearest legend. "Jack Sparrow," she said quickly, and saw that she hit the mark. Beckett might have seen all her reactions by being so close, but she too could observe him. "It was truly vague because my man was all drunk. He was mumbling something about some object and going north. I've gotten an impression that this Jack isn't a friend of his."

"You're useless," Beckett stated, moving away from her. Renee was not fooled. Something in what she told him had given this man a plan. "I'm afraid I have bad news for the both of us," he informed her. "Obviously, you know nothing of significance. However, I cannot kill you because he might come back for you. You will have a long and miserable life in jail.

"I understand," she muttered, subdued yet relieved. Miserable life or not, Renee didn't want to die. Jails were not impenetrable. Perhaps, she could find an escape. Beckett seemed to read her thoughts. Negligently, he offered one last remark over his shoulder, "Place her into the isolated cell."

Mercer threw her a grim, but satisfied look and followed his employer out. It was her price to pay for deceiving them.

The soldiers manhandled Renee once more. They marched the prisoner past the ground cells towards a far corner of the jail where they unlocked a cellar door. Crumbling stairway beyond led into a narrow tunnel. Even her jailers shuddered involuntarily at the cold darkness and a stale, foul air that made breathing difficult.

Renee walked first. The dim lantern carried behind her hardly illumined the rough, slippery floor. After another sharp turn, she nearly bumped into another door. Thick and heavy, it was forced open by one of the soldiers with a mournful creak. In spite of old age and poor state, the reinforced with the iron door was strong enough to hold off several heavily armed men. The soldiers pushed Renee into a windowless cell no bigger than a coffin, and the door slammed shut, sinking her world into pitch darkness.

Renee lay on the ground with her heart beating madly. Only her blood warmed the tips of her fingers, which continued to flow even after she had been given the cloth to stop it. She wished she could blame James for her predicament, but all she felt was a savage pleasure that Beckett had never caught him. It was sad that she still thought about a man who had only appeared for a few days in her life, leaving a deep mark nonetheless; a man who most likely wouldn't think about her ever again.

A soft, tingling sensation travelled up her arm. Green light filled the darkness, coming forth from her ring. Vague at first, it grew brighter. In its shine the cell faded. A sunlit beach with four people standing around a chest, swords drawn for an impeding fight, appeared before her. Renee jumped upon hearing a voice she would never mistake for another that came to her like an echo to contradict her earlier thoughts.

"So sorry, I can't let you do that either. There is a promise I've made to someone, and their life might as well depend on my success."

The swords clashed violently, and the vision faded.

It was just like the previous dream with every word clear, and even some of the emotions felt like they were her own. Agitated, and no longer comfortable curled up into a ball, Renee tried to rise. Her head pressed against the low ceiling. She could only stand if she bent her body almost in half. She sat down once more as comfortably as the walls allowed, trying to understand what happened, fingering her ring in the darkness as if the touch could provide her with answers. The glow may have been imagined due to the blood loss. But, her earlier vision prior to questioning had been most real. She was there, observing a fragment of another man's life. Possibly, the ring had a magical power to show her the future or maybe it simply weaved an illusion to comfort her just as her grandmother had promised. In the upper world where she heard gunshots and crude laughter, Renee would have never considered it, but buried so far below ground where not even the hove beats of the horses running along the street above penetrated the grave silence, her imagination began to grasp at straws. She was far more willing to believe in magic and miracles, for it seemed that only a miracle could save her now.


	9. Chapter 9

"Governor, please."

The words came out in undertone as a plea rather than a firm command. No matter how strained the situation became when his hand trembled in exertion from keeping a father, enraged that his daughter might have been lost, a mere inch away from stabbing the Heart, James respected Weatherby Swann too much to command him as he would a soldier. The two of them were surrounded by enemies: Davy Jones, defiantly coming closer in spite of a weapon pointed at him, Beckett with a smug smirk playing across his lips, thinking himself in full control of the struggle, and Mercer always a step behind his employer, conceited as ever, and possibly even indifferent whether his ally would win or lose.

James' plea had the desired effect for the Governor dropped the bayonet blade in resignation, however, without a loss of dignity. In the squared shoulders and proudly lifted chin, James read a condemnation for himself. It was the last gracious act for him as Swann decided that James has taken his enemy's side.

Blackmailed or not, Swann looked down on Beckett as an impostor into the ranks of nobility. "Our cooperation is over," the Governor informed them, taking his leave freely.

The lack of retaliation alarmed James. Beckett was vengeful, especially when it came to a lack of respect for his power. He could not have simply allowed the Governor to leave without a final jab, though Beckett clearly showed to both, the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ and James, that he wanted them to leave the room as well.

"Thank you, Admiral," he dismissed.

Unable to hide his disapproval, James huffed, and crossed the room towards the exit. When Beckett stretched out an open palm for the key, James slapped the rusted piece of iron into it, but refused to be dismissed. "Sir, I would like an urgent word with you, if you please." He avoided referring to his employer as Lord whenever he could.

Beckett considered whether to demonstrate his control by postponing the audience, but then reconsidered patronising his ally, needing his silence and cooperation. "By all means, Admiral, state what's on your mind," he allowed.

"The information revealed by the Captain regarding the Heart is highly sensitive," James took advantage of the opportunity, ignoring his frequently emphasized title, as his ally ensured that James would never forget who has given it to him.

"Which, I assume, you intend to keep silent about. That's what you do." The threat and command were unmistakable, yet it turned the conversation as James desired.

"Indeed," James alleged dispassionately. "However, we can no longer rely on the Governor's discretion. He is a man of firm principles. True to his word, he will not cooperate."

A trail of cold sweat ran down his back under the predatory scrutiny. Beckett was considering him in a new light. In their dealings so far, James demonstrated an ambitious side of his personality. It was a trait Beckett possessed as well, greatly valued, and overestimated the power it had over others. James demonstrated that he would do anything for his career, and his ally became intrigued how far the Admiral was willing to go to secure his success. "What do you propose - that it would be best for us all had the Governor disappeared?" he tested.

"He is too important a man to disappear, even by accident," James disappointed Beckett not without a measure of satisfaction. "Weatherby Swann has both political and nobility ties that go as high as His Majesty. I wouldn't advise being the one responsible for his safekeeping before any such disappearance."

Beckett was poor at concealing his disappointment. Unconsciously, he drummed his fingers along the Chest's rim, a nervous habit when he was forced to change plans unexpectedly. This strengthened James' conviction that Beckett intended to murder the man who had too much insight before he brought up the topic.

"However, the Governor has the right to request a stop at the nearest port where he may choose to disembark. The East Trading Company cannot be held accountable for the on shore lawlessness," James suggested.

"Unacceptable, even if I can spare the _Endeavour_ to make a detour," Beckett said irritably. "The longer the Governor is alive, the more likely the sensitive information will be revealed. Our subordinates should not second guess whether they must destroy the Heart should the need arise."

"Allow me to oversee the Governor's safety, and instil a hope in him that he still has allies," James offered. "I will ensure his silence until we reach the nearest port."

Beckett smiled unkindly, and then closed the Chest as he closed the matter. "I will hold you responsible for his silence and much more." Seeing James' feigned displeasure at the implication that he must carry out the plan entirely strengthened his resolve to test his ally. "Please remember, Admiral, every man should have a secret he carries with him to his grave."

The vision, Renee began calling them such, faded much to her regret, returning her to the world encased in no more than a couple of meters of space in the earth. When she was lost in observing the outside world, Renee was free of the thirst, cold and hunger that were her constant companions throughout the weeks. She might have suffered from hunger before, but she had never known a true meaning of starvation. At the end of each day, the guards have been instructed to bring her a mug of water and spoiled food trice a week. Pieces of rotten fruits and left over tavern soups that even stray dogs didn't risk eating kept her alive. Some days the jailers forgot about her, and she deliriously searched the cell walls for the tiniest trace of moisture to lick it dry to postpone either death or insanity. Terror that the guards will abandon her to a slow death grew stronger with time as Renee lost count how long she had been imprisoned. Her only consolation lay in the ring. The band, so thin that sometimes Renee feared it would vanish, became too large. She moved the ring onto her thumb to prevent it from slipping off her finger at night.

Sometimes, the ring showed her fish people commanding a ship that could travel underwater and against the wind. Sometimes, she saw pirates sailing under the black sails of an exceptional ship called the _Black Pearl_. Once, Renee was brought to a witch hut. Among the chaotic collection of nets, dried plants, hanging under a ceiling, and jars of all shapes and sizes, a woman sat at a table, shaking a pile of bones in her hands and chanting. As the bones landed, haphazardly tossed, the witch leaned over to read the spread. When Renee peeked over her shoulder, the witch raised her head. "Who's there?" she called. Renee tried to answer in hopes that this woman may help her, but the vision faded.

Most frequently, Renee saw James Norrington. Turbulent, imperfect life, from living among the pirates to joining Lord Beckett, fit in with what she had known of him on Tortuga. But, regardless of what he's done, an underlying thread of honour and consideration for other human beings that he couldn't conceal from her elevated him. Flaws aside, Renee admired his daring and strength, never having been a fighter herself. There were changes in him no one except for her could have noticed. James hardly ever drank heavily anymore. It pleased Renee that she might have contributed to this change. Renee waited for the visions that involved him the most, growing disappointed when they were about someone else. She had no control over what the ring showed her, no matter how much she talked to it, turned it on her finger or tried unimaginable spells to get its cooperation.

Using the ring to escape from the cell was impossible either. The surroundings might have felt so real that Renee frequently thought she could take one step and break free from the jail forever, but granting her freedom was outside the ring's power. She was isolated from the upper world. Even the guards refused to speak to her. Renee only lived through her ring. These visions were short fragments, but when she put them together, the mythical tale of the Dead Man's Chest unfolded. Unknown to her, Renee changed as well. For the first time in many years she could see the bigger picture, no longer confined to her miserly daily survival. Who would take control of the seas became important. Renee closed her eyes, praying to see that world once again.

HMS _Providence_ was their salvation. James spared a passing glance at the powerful ship that had taken over the best place at the doc in full confidence, only few hundred feet across from Lord Beckett's flag ship, and guided Weatherby Swann past the busy crowd towards the emptier part of the shoreline where the smaller boats docked.

Judging by the impatient twitches, Swann wanted to discuss their plan once more to ease his mind. James squeezed his arm tight, requesting silence, concerned that a poorly phrased question would give them away. Weaving a complicated path through the bustling area, James spotted two men following them. It was a small consolation that Beckett did not send Mercer to be an eye witness of James' loyalty to the East Trading Company.

Beckett allowed them to leave the _Endeavour_ because, assumingly, James had convinced the Governor that he wanted to help him escape, in order to get rid of him once they were in town. The true plan was to stage the murder and find a passage to England. They have gone over the details several times prior to disembarking, but James was swarmed with doubts. Swann was simply not cut out to be a conspirator. He stood out too much and was indecisive in mayhem. James doubted whether the Governor could follow instructions, even with the help of an unexpected ally.

However, prior to worrying about voyage, they had to lose the informers. The docs were separated from the calmer part of the town by a creek. James purposely walked slower when he spotted a dinghy sailing down the muddy water. He timed the bridge crossing just as the sailors signalled a man on the shore to open the bridge. James clung onto Swann's arm tighter to prevent him from turning around or the inquisitors, having fallen behind on the other bank, would have thought that they've been spotted.

"Governor, I must trouble you to move faster," he suggested mildly as soon as they turned the corner out of sight.

"I was a young man once," Swann answered defensively, perplexed by suspicions that he could slow them down. "I haven't forgotten what running is." He seemed to want to discuss the topic thoroughly, but they couldn't afford delays. James motioned them into run as fast as his companion managed, never letting go of Swann's arm.

He passed two alleyway entrances and turned onto the next street. It was empty with the exception of a wagon loaded with hay and harnessed by a phlegmatic donkey. A man in peasant clothes, wearing a straw hat, underneath which stuck out red hair strands, had his feet casually up on the donkey's rear. Relaxed, folded across the chest arms would have fooled any passerby into thinking that he was sleeping.

"Phillip," James called when they approached him within the arm's reach.

"Sir!" The lieutenant jumped up eagerly, losing his balance and nearly falling off the wagon. "It's good to see you again."

"Steady man." James smiled involuntarily at the young man's impulsiveness. Nonetheless, he too shared the sentiment when Gillette confessed that he missed his former commander. James missed sharing a decent human interaction with his crew, in contrast to the men he currently commanded.

Gillette approached him in the morning when James was ashore, examining the port and looking for ideas how to get Swann to safety without losing Beckett's confidence. The former lieutenant of Port Royal told James that after his resignation the port suffered difficulties. Through his cousin, Gillette had been reassigned to His Majesty's ship HMS _Providence_, away from the problematic location. The ship was on her way to England when she was forced to make a stop and wait for the right wind. James took a risk to share his problem, and Gillette offered his help.

As much as they wanted to talk, the bridge served as a short delay for Beckett's men. Gillette sensed the urgency, having learned long ago to interpret his commander's moods. "I've convinced the Captain to accept a passenger," he informed them. "I've told him that you are my uncle, Governor. The _Providence_ is departing to England as soon as the tide rises."

"You have done well," James approved. "However, you must be careful as not to draw unnecessary attention. Governor, I believe for your safety it would be best to stay in your cabin out of the Captain's way as much as possible." He hoped Gillette took the hint that he should try to make sure that the Governor followed his instructions.

"Don't worry," Swann assured. "Once I'm in England, I will use my connections to inform the King that the East Trading Company is taking too many liberties. The Company should not eclipse the Kingdom in power. Their favour with the Crown will be gone and their influence curbed."

"God speed," James agreed. He helped the Governor climb onto the wagon and covered him with hay.

"I will ensure that your career doesn't suffer," Swann promised.

"Sir," Gillette hesitated, twisting the bridle nervously. The thought bothered him since the morning. "Can you not come with us?"

"I dread to think that you must return to that ghastly ship," the Governor agreed, and James piled more hay on top of him because the shifting stack looked suspicious.

"I cannot. The soldiers will search the port before _Providence_ departs if I do not return."

There was a first time for everything because he had never seen Phillip sigh before. "Then, God speed, Admiral," he said quietly.

James shook his friend's hand firmly. With a final nod, Gillette touched the bridle. The donkey took off at a lazy pace as the lieutenant resumed his civilian role, pretending to be riding through town half asleep.

When the hove beats faded, James fired a shot into the air. He uncovered a large sack, filled with junk to resemble a man, which was hidden in the nearest barrow. James slung it across his shoulder and walked back to the river just as one of the Beckett's men appeared. The duo must have split up to find him. James threw the sack into the murky water, and it sunk with a mild splash.

James climbed the bank, heading away from the river, nearly brushing shoulders with the informer who walked past him to a spot where James dumped the sack. He examined the area carefully and then knelt on the bank, but very little was visible in the water. Satisfied that the job was done the informer went along the river in search of his partner. James doubted that either of them would confess to Beckett that they've temporarily lost sight of him, whereas witnessing the completion of the supposed murder assured them that James had done his job.

His hope now lay with the Governor to reach England and convince those in power that East Trading Company had to be limited in controlling the seas and the laws.


	10. Chapter 10

When the guard brought water one day to the cell, the prisoner lay motionless. Desperate in isolation, the woman had always reacted emotionally to the opening door. She would grab the water and address him with pleas and questions, regardless that he had never responded, but this time she showed no signs of life even when he negligently dropped the mug beside her, splashing half of the water out onto her arm.

Joe Smith grew concerned, and nudged the woman with his rifle. His orders were to keep the prisoner barely alive at a little expense, but alive nonetheless on the given finances a good half of which he frequently pocketed. Lord Beckett would skin him alive, and make him envy the fate of a white bear skin that lay by his fireplace, for failing to follow those orders.

Wrinkling his nose from the horrible stench, Joe set the oily lantern onto the ground and knelt by the prisoner. "Wake up," he urged, pouring remaining water over her face.

The woman turned her head away and released a low moan. "James, is that you?" she asked.

Satisfied that she was alive, Joe decided to leave when the next words stopped him in his tracks.

"I must tell you about the gold," the woman confessed, "a hundred thousa…" she moaned again and went still.

The guard lifted the lantern to illumine her gaunt face, searching for signs of trickery. Joe Smith thought that he had the worst job in the world, guarding an isolated prisoner at Tortuga where nobody had a shred of respect for the uniform. If anything, it has gotten him plenty of outward hostility and numerous taunts from the locals. He never understood why he had been left off the ship and ordered to guard this woman, whereas all his comrades have been called away. Now, he suspected he knew. The gold might have been the reason why Lord Beckett had imprisoned her. She must have been stupidly stubborn by refusing to share when she easily could have bought her freedom. Her loss was his gain. He could trick her into revealing where she hid the gold, which he could pocket, and have a nice retirement from the hardly cherished military service.

Muttering curses under his nose, Joe picked up the prisoner by the armpits and dragged her up to the ground level where he poured some water into her mouth and slapped her face.

The woman twitched convulsively and half opened her eyes. She didn't seem fully coherent. "James?" she asked again.

"Yes, it's me," Joe agreed. "You were saying about the gold."

"Don't let them have it."

"I won't," Joe promised, leaning closer to hear the barely coherent muttering. "Tell me where it is."

The woman breathed in convulsively and appeared to be slipping into unconsciousness once more. "We need a boat," she informed him like there was no pause after he nudged her.

Joe considered that it might be a trick, but the woman had been too genuine in grovelling and snivelling to be capable of even thinking about an escape. Besides, she was so starved she could hardly lift an arm. He'd catch her easily if she tried to run. Grumbling about a stupid prisoner who couldn't walk on her own, Joe slung the rifle across his back and dragged the woman up, supporting her weight with his shoulder.

"I hope it doesn't rain," he grumbled under the inconvenient weight, glumly staggering towards the doc along the muddy street where lanterns and fires dimly danced after sundown. Joe hated getting wet; especially when his weapons got wet because then he had to dry them. Hopefully, there was enough gold, so he wouldn't worry about keeping his uniform and weapons clean ever again.

Thus, daydreaming and occasionally cursing, Joe reached the sea where disregarding the ownership, he dumped the woman into the nearest rowing boat and climbed into it as well. Unaware, he turned his back on the prisoner to cast them off when two feet connected with his rear. The shove was weak, but the precarious balance and the wobbling boat did their job at sending him to the fishes. Joe had never been the best swimmer. He trashed in the water, pulled down by the rifle's weight, meanwhile the woman tried to guide the boat away. However, she was too weak to row effectively, thus remaining within his reach until Joe clumsily grabbed the stern. "Stop! Stop or face the law!" he yelled. The boat tilted heavily as he unsuccessfully kept trying to climb aboard. Renee threw her weight onto the opposite end desperately, sure that she'd drown if the boat turned over.

A shot from the doc put an end to their struggle. Joe's mouth opened wide in surprise that such a calamity would befall him. Limply, he went under. Only a stirring boat told a short tale that once there lived Joe Smith.

A man, standing several feet away, shoved a pistol back into his sash. "Bloody law," he spat. "There ain't any place a free man can go without running into the bilge rats who force it down your throat." He tossed his rum bottle into the water right at the spot where the soldier had sunk, and then swaying heavily staggered away.

Renee grabbed the rope's end and secured the boat, realising that she wouldn't be able to row back to shore if the boat was carried away by the current. The deed cost her remaining strength; she sunk into a graceless heap. First rain drops hit the water. Renee leaned her head onto the only bench in the flimsy vessel, and stared at the low, filled with the clouds sky.

She escaped. This unexpected freedom she owed to James Norrington. In her world, dealing with men in power meant obedience and negotiation when they allowed. It was the law. If someone is beating you, fight back. If you cannot fight back, endure. If you cannot endure, die. So, she endured. Renee was a master at enduring. And then she learned other ways. In her visions people gambled their lives on the chances slimmer than one toss of the dice, and miraculously won and lived on. She betrayed her instincts only through inspiration drawn from the daring actions that filled her visions.

The rain intensified. It drummed steady rhythm on earth, along with the beating of her heart. Greedily, Renee sought out the drops, relishing their feel on her face and chest. "Thank you," she repeated over and over again, closing her eyes, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." In the tapping raindrops she heard a chant.

"Part of the ship."

"Part of the crew."

"Part of the ship."

"Part of the crew."

Reason escaped Bill Turner. Only a direct command from the ship had the power to cease the mad rambling.

"I wish to return the Heart to Davy Jones in exchange for the fulfillment of my terms," James declared.

The chant stopped abruptly. Compelled by a silent command, Bill Turner staggered back.

The delay was all James needed. A short lived joy lit hit heart that Elizabeth cared enough to attempt to return for him, but this time she was not to have what she wanted. He could never allow her the absurdity to set her foot again on the _Flying Dutchman_. His arm held steady as he fired at the clasps connecting the ships. Taken out of the stupor by the deception, Turner struck. The firing posture had to be too open and rigid to hit the mark. James could see, but he couldn't avoid the immediate attack, which fell short of the target. The spar hit the deck, snapped in half by the Captain's claw, emerging from the wall to intercept the deadly blow. Black as the pools of the octopus ink eyes arrested James, seeking out the slightest hint of indecisiveness.

"Is it not presumptuous to trade that which you do not have?" the ferryman questioned.

It was too late to go back on his word, although he had planned to negotiate only when he was in a position to be as unyielding in his demands as the Captain. "I have access to every cabin controlled by the East Trading Company," James stated boldly, refusing to look away first. "I can dismiss the soldiers and take the Chest into my possession."

"You stand to lose everything. You will be marked as a traitor by your people. Why should I trust that you will fulfill your end of the bargain so disadvantageous to you?"

"Clearly, I expect to gain something of a greater value to compensate my loss," James stated.

The Captain withdrew from him unnerved. He took out his pipe and held it to his mouth in contemplation. The Admiral was the only man on his ship he held a minor regard for, but Jones didn't like him. The Captain always relied on fear and intimidation to forward his cause. This man had no fear he could be controlled by.

"State your terms," Jones allowed. He had no doubt that this man would do exactly what he promised. With the same directness he would expect to receive what he deserved. Norrington didn't hesitate to dictate his terms to the sea man who obeyed no human laws.

"You must take the men I command to the location of my choice without harming them, and then return to your ferryman's duties without seeking revenge on the living."

A ripple of anger rushed the ship stern to bow. "You are giving me one favour," Jones decreed, barely supressing his anger that his right to vengence should be denied. "Why should I exchange it for two? Choose one of your conditions, Admiral."

"My only condition is that to protect innocent lives, which includes all men whether aboard this ship or any other ship sailing the seas. I've merely rephrased how it may be accomplished. You should never have taken sides in the upper world conflict. The people must solve their fight for power alone."

"You must choose at once, either the lives of your crew or my leave," the Captain repeated. "Else, I resume current duties."

Abruptly, he turned and peered at the curtain of fog where the stern lights of the _Empress_ were drifting out of sight. "Prisoners escaped," he stated, and the ship stirred. Several crewmen crowded their Captain, amid rapid tapping of crab feet and the splurging sleaze. "Set pursuit course. Roll out the guns."

"Belay that!" James commanded. "You are forgetting who is in charge."

"The man who has the key to the Chest is in charge - Mercer. I believe he will agree with me that pursuit and obliteration are necessary."

"Mercer will never surrender the Heart to you. You're bargaining your Heart against my desire to protect innocent people. Sink that ship and you will have nothing I'd want sure enough to forgive you that action."

The sailors waited. They surrounded James in a semicircle, whispering and throwing hostile looks at him, ready to thwart his orders at Davy Jones' command.

"You have one hour to decide which one condition you want fulfilled, else I will tell your people that you are a traitor and sink the _Empress_." Jones decreed. He gestured the crew to disappear, being the last one to take his leave not without a last, trying look into the Admiral's eyes. If he didn't like what he saw there, Jones didn't show it. Dull thuds from his shell encrusted leg sunk into the darkness as he disappeared into the hidden quarters of the _Flying Dutchman_.

Not a single man alive had seen their confrontation. James returned to the deck where Beckett's men kept watch. "Lieutenant, summon Mercer to my cabin immediately," he ordered. Although the assassin was not his subordinate, James trusted that he will come, compelled to find out what the man he had never trusted wanted.

The dripping water and creaking floorboards were almost lulling as James stepped into a cabin where very little said it belonged to him. The _Flying Dutchman_ was a treasury for artefacts and grime covered things that filled many corners, lying forgotten and decaying like all the living and dead aboard.

James reloaded the pistol. His wait was short. Mercer hadn't been sleeping either. He arrived alone, clad in the unchanging black outfit where he kept hidden weapons and keys.

"I want you to tell me what you think about this map," James stated abruptly with a curt nod at a table where haphazardly lay several documents. He purposely didn't flick the door lock shut to raise less suspicions as Mercer entered the room. The assassin partially turned his back on James just for an instant as he stepped deeper inside. James threw an arm around Mercer's throat and pressed the pistol to the back of his head.

"I'm looking for a woman," James spoke to the man who cold-bloodedly listened without a twitch or a sign of nerves. "Her name is Renee Ash or Renee Gray. You've arrested her on Tortuga two months ago. Tell me where she is in exchange for your life."


	11. Chapter 11

"Wake up!"

Hairy arm grabbed Renee by the scruff of the neck and lifted her like a kitten. She blinked owlishly in the dim, morning light, thinking that she must have fallen asleep in the boat. The owner, however, didn't find the act as innocent as she did; growing particularly angry when he scoured the damage and discovered that one of the oars was missing. Blood rushed to his lobster red face.

"I'll show you how to take naps and throw away the oars!" the sailor kept yelling as he dragged Renee to a shabby hut that lay on the shore. "You'll wish you haven't crossed Roberto!" Like a grumbling crab, barely fitting into his shell, he upturned many baskets inside until he found a rusted shackle with a cast-iron ball on one end, and clasped the lose end around Renee's ankle.

An armful of damaged fishing nets, which he tossed at his new servant, meant that Roberto wasn't going to let Renee off the hook easily. "Fix these by my return to pay for the damage you've caused," he told her. "The more you fix the less whip lashes you'll receive." Satisfied that his threat seemed impressive enough, Roberto left the hut, either in search of rum or a new oar.

Renee perched on an upturned basket, shivering in her wet dress. Roberto may have dragged the shackle around without difficulty, but she couldn't move it an inch. She examined nets, which were beyond repair, thinking that Roberto probably didn't want her around and would release her once she pacified him with a bit of work.

A rattling wagon piled with the fruit baskets drove past the hut. As it bounced high on a boulder, two mangos fell and rolled in between the wheels towards her. Renee hid them under her skirt. When the cart rattled of sight, she devoured the fruit hungrily.

Though she was loath to trade one imprisonment for another, the world had never looked more beautiful. The air smelled like the sea and flowers. A blue sky shone with a sapphire light. People went past her, laughing and cursing, but she dared not plead for help, having nothing to offer in exchange.

Renee needed time to gather her courage to leave Tortuga. It wasn't an easy decision to make where to go when she knew almost nothing about the rest of the world, although no place was safe from the East Trading Company. Mercer and Lord Beckett were as sea, but sooner or later someone would inform them that she had escaped, and then no one would save her. As she considered it, however, her thoughts went to James. She could hardly believe that he remembered his promise, more so resolved to threats to find her. But the promise concerned her far less than the fight James had picked. She may have been sure that James was stronger, however, Mercer was a horrible, deceptive creature who would rather chew off his arm than offer help with it. She was more right than she thought.

Unless someone's life was in jeopardy, James couldn't murder a man, no matter how sinful, holding a particular disgust for the tactics that meant stabbing one in the back. He could play the intimidation game, but he couldn't pull a trigger as long as Mercer remained, perhaps conscience, but not law condemned. The bluff may have been better concealed because Mercer couldn't see his face, but the assassin was not a man to be trifled with.

"You've made a mistake," he claimed, confident that Norrington will not leave the cabin alive now that he had proof that the Admiral plotted against them. "The dead do not speak as you need me to, but I'll gladly silence you for eternity."

"Do not overestimate your importance," James told him. Better safe than dead, he was tempted to knock the man out, in favour of taking the key only, but he interrogated his opponent until a breaking point, too stubborn to relinquish the smallest shred of hope that Mercer would make a mistake and give away more than he intended. "You are not the only one who has this information."

"Lord Beckett will tell you her whereabouts when he returns the Heart to Davy Jones."

Gravely serious and frequently more than a man of few words, Mercer was taking uncharacteristic delight in mocking his opponent. All James sensed from him was a sickening pride in the ability to inflict pain, but getting angry meant losing this fight, thus allowing the death and destruction to continue. James listened, though his nerves were as tight strung as his finger that lay on the trigger.

"I do appreciate the irony." Inconspicuously, without moving the rest of his arm, the assassin twisted his wrist and reached into his sleeve. "That woman suffers pain and despair as we speak - she has been, for as long as you've served Lord Beckett. She is buried alive with the ghosts of the thieves and murderers, beaten and starved, and denied the light of day until she becomes a shadow of a human being, thinking she has been forgotten by all, and especially by you. It is no lie. Unlike you, I'm telling the truth."

Years of fighting experience urged James to leap backwards, saving him from a stab meant for his heart. The stiletto sunk into his uniform, stopped by a heavy layer of brocade.

One look into the man's eyes made it clear that Mercer wanted an opportunity to eliminate a dangerous ally, but James hesitated to draw attention to their fight. He threw the firearm into a corner in favour of his sword. The delay was costly. He missed a kick that buckled his knees, and James crashed onto the floor; the cabin darkened, long enough for the assassin reclaim his weapon. James grabbed the man's wrist, keeping the wavering point away, with the feel of fresh blood flowing down his face from the smashed temple. The blade danced near his neck.

"When you die, I'll cut out your eyes and force feed them to her," Mercer hissed.

James released Mercer's wrist abruptly. The blade sunk deep into the floor, nearly leaving a deep mark on his face. James threw the assassin off and struck. His knuckles cracked from the force his punch carried, meant as a payback for every shred of pain inflicted, on behalf of all victims. Mercer stumbled. Instinctively, he grabbed an overhanging tapestry to regain his balance. The aged material ripped under his weight and upset the artefacts pyramid that towered up the cabin's wall. The avalanche buried him in the choking cloud of dust and a shower of gold coins that spread out like a cutting, shimmering rain.

As the dust settled James lifted the tapestry. Gold filled, ironbound trunk crushed the ribs, holding Mercer prisoner. He writhed in agony, taking convulsive breaths, but he couldn't throw off the dreadful weight. Bloodied foam spilled from the corner of his mouth. His bent fingers clawed the trunk unsuccessfully.

James knelt beside him. "Where is Renee?" he asked. "Answer and I will end your suffering." He intended to remove the trunk regardless, but an act of mercy was incomprehensible to a man like Mercer.

"Underground," he spat out, "Tortuga jail by the docks."

James lifted the trunk. Free from the agonizing pain, Mercer took a last breath, empty of any remorse, and his heart stopped.

James searched the body for the key, much to his shame unable to wish the man peace. He had never been angrier in his entire life. Torturing a woman just for the love of causing pain was despicable. Small wonder Renee thought that men had no good in them. She had suffered too much from their hands.

Concealing the ripped and bloodied uniform was impossible. James left the room swiftly, intercepting the Lieutenant who came to investigate the racket. "Summon every man on deck. This is urgent," James ordered abruptly. He didn't want anyone to resist when they learned that the _Flying Dutchman_ was about to change loyalties. The astounded officer swallowed his questions, daunted by his commander's battered look.

He had to hurry. Any minute Davy Jones could have appeared and ruined his plan. A marine blocked his path reluctantly when James reached the door to the cabin where Beckett secured the Heart. "Sir, we have orders to let no one pass."

"Mr Mercer is dead. You will take orders from me," James informed him. "Stand down."

The marine threw a side glance at his comrade who was reluctant to interfere even more so than he was. Seeing no support, he allowed the Admiral entry.

Murtogg and Mullroy were guarding the Chest. They snapped to attention and glared murderously at the Chest, pointing their rifles at it to look more impressive when the Admiral entered. They breathed out sighs of relief when James informed them that they should join the other marines.

The Chest unlocked with a low hiss. The Heart pulsed with life. It beat in tact with a sputtering lantern that swung rhythmically as the sea waves lulled the ship. James raised his knife above the Heart.

"Fool!" Sea water flooded the cabin up to the knee level and an enraged Captain rose from it. "Have you forgotten, should you stab my Heart…"

"I will take the control of the _Flying Dutchman_."

Unfulfilled curiosity quelled his anger, though not vengefulness. "You are neither dying nor burdened by unplayable debts nor do you want to be the Captain," Jones stated.

"Every man has sins he must pay for. The East Trading Company might have obtained the Heart by other means, but I cannot escape the responsibility that I am the one who handed this power to them."

"What about Renee?" the Captain prompted. "You will not be able to set foot on land again to save her."

"I'm confident Mr Turner will not deny me a favour once I free his father."

Jones went around him in a slow circle in contemplation. "You may have your bargain," he uttered at last, concluding that the Admiral wouldn't relent. "I will not take sides in the human conflict, and I promise to release your men unharmed."

"You are misinterpreting the original bargain," James said. "You must vow to forget revenge."

The water rose higher, and the Captain sputtered in anger. "I cannot turn back the time and set the world order as it used to be. Deep wounds have been inflicted that call for revenge. You've heard its call. You've chased a man across the seven seas. Why must you deny me the same right? I'll vow to let your friends go free, but why must you care that I will destroy Beckett and Sparrow. You have no love for either of them."

"I will not set you free should that be equivalent of condemning two men to death regardless of my feelings for them. Those who have committed crimes should be brought on trial, and punished fairly only when they are found guilty. Otherwise, only God may pass judgement on them."

"I do not adhere to your human laws. Can your courts fairly settle a dispute between me and a mortal? No! The sea is bound by different laws!"

"Then perhaps you'll agree with the law of the strongest. You have until the count of three to decide," James said. He thought that the Captain feared death above all else, but perhaps giving up revenge was beyond him. James suspected that even Beckett had never brought the Captain to such a humiliating disadvantage. Silently, James bid farewell to the world, quelling down a few regrets: he had never been kissed by a woman who loved him.

"One."

Nor would he ever find his true love, sailing beneath the seas.

"Two."

He was not going to yield. He took a deep breath to speak his last word as a man living, 'three'.

"Desist!" Jones spat. "Your terms will be fulfilled."

"Swear on the name of the woman who caused you to cut out your heart," James demanded.

"Why would you want a worthless oath? I care nothing for her," Jones snapped, but the Admiral only shook his head slightly. Green eyes met black ones, and just for one moment the enemies understood each other.

"I know what it means to love a woman who breaks your heart," the Admiral explained softly.

The Captain's voice was brought lower than demure whispering of the waves, but the oath was made, "Calypso, on your name I swear."


	12. Chapter 12

Roberto, he had no last name, for the most part was an agreeable man as long as his company knew how to flatter him blatantly. Unfortunately, this habit did not overcome his natural pragmatism and mistrust enough to remove the shackles from Renee's foot no matter how much she showered him with the outrageously pompous compliments. Upon returning home several days ago and discovering that his fishing nets have been fixed, Roberto decided that it wasn't advantageous to beat the woman half to death with an oar like he had planned to, and remained outstandingly pleased with his own generosity and kindness to keep her in his hut instead, occupying her with the manual tasks.

Huddled in a blanket, earned by saying that he had caught the biggest tarpon she had ever seen, Renee wondered where her jailer hid the key. Roberto snored loudly with a brass cauldron under his head, stretched out across the hut's exit, resolved to keep his new servant in as much as everyone else out. Renee considered changing her tactic and becoming a liability to him, but the man possessed clumsy strength and a short fuse. Though he was no murderer, he could have snapped her neck with two fingers by accident. She would be lucky if she could crawl once tossed out of his hut. Knowing that luck was rarely on her side, Renee preferred to win his trust and run away once Roberto removed the shackle.

The hut didn't have a door. Past her jailer stretched the darkness, and the sea, visible only by the white foam on the wave crests. This night the waters rolled fiercely along the sand, agitated by something happening in the distance. Renee shuddered from a bad premonition, upon hearing hushed whispering as the new vision unfolded.

The witch stood in a fog shrouded brig, surrounded by an eerie aura, whispering fervently and caressing her lover's face through the bars. He leaned into the touch, but spoke mockingly, "There you are, trapped in the single form, cut off from the sea, from all that you love."

The witch dropped her arm and along with it took away the enchantment, returning Davy Jones to his cursed form. "I am bound by men, just as you are bound by an oath to them."

With diminished powers, she still knew his heart and his anger, watching him with soul searching intensity, even when he grabbed her throat. "What fate do you have for your captors?" he asked.

"The brethren court?" she exclaimed angrily. "All of them, the last thing they will learn in this life is how cruel I can be."

A flicker of satisfied vengeance lit his eyes, and Davy Jones turned to leave.

"What of your fate?" she called after him.

"I have sworn on your name that I shall not interfere," he answered.

The witch smiled cryptically as she hugged the bars. "I give you freedom to do as you choose without desecrating my name or the oath. The mortals should never command us. When the battle comes tomorrow, join it as you desire, for they must learn our wrath," she decreed, and the pair melted from sight in the fog.

"No!"

Strong blast of wind and rain nearly threw Renee off her feet. Only Roberto's huge arm kept her in place.

"Where'd you think you're going?" he shouted angrily.

Renee pushed the wet, tangled hair away from the face, becoming aware that she had jumped over Roberto and carried the cast-iron several feet out of the hut. Heavy clouds swarmed the sky. Bright lightening hit the sea far in the distance.

Roberto spat, and rushed to secure the boat and the fishing tackles with a growl that a fine storm is brewing which he could have slept though had it not been for Renee.

She cared less that he had left her out in the rain, only seeing two ships coming together to settle all debts, and one man waiting for the first exchange of fire, once more on the deck of the _Black Pearl_.

James resolved to bring Miss Swann back to her father safely, thus the last he had seen of the _Flying Dutchman_, disappearing under waves with the Heart, was from the cove's shore where the brethren court held a meeting and where he had asked to be brought after the marines have been taken to Port Royal.

He found Elizabeth quickly because all attention was on her, the new Pirate King, and the suicidal task she had set before them. James didn't fear meeting Davy Jones once more, his conscience was clear, nor was he the one who had broken an oath, and he could calmly look Davy Jones in the eyes. He was concerned for Miss Swann, however, and her ability to always end up in the middle of the fray. She didn't lack protection with William Turner guarding her every step, but she certainly needed more common sense, although wishing for common sense in this battle was overly ambitious.

James was concerned about everyone's life but his own, knowing nothing that someone worried about him. Renee lived through the fight with him. Howling wind and rain outside the hut matched the hurricane roar and gunfire.

"Show me. I must know that he lives," Renee pleaded silently with the ring, afraid that capricious visions may stop and she'll never learn the outcome. Only Roberto in the world's mayhem slept like a rock, once his boat was stored safely. Renee witnessed it all - William Turner's death and rise to the Captain, the _Endeavour's_ destruction and the sun, which emerged through the thick clouds to flood the horizon with victorious light.

"Do pick up the crew of the ship you have blasted out of the water, Mr Turner," James suggested, gesturing towards the _Endeavour's_ remains where the survivors were in the water, clinging onto the flotsam. He doubted very much that either the armada or the pirates would come to their rescue.

The freshly made Captain thought it was a fair enough reprimand. He had gotten carried away by the joy of freeing his father and every sailor under the former Captain's command, though he regarded James as well as a man could regard a competitor for the heart of the woman he loved, not that the Admiral cared about his sentiments. He hadn't been impressed by the former Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, and he wasn't impressed by this one either. He wondered how much good a blacksmith with a background in pirating could do as a Captain, at least until he learned the ropes.

The Admiral picked up a spyglass and adjourned to the bow to take in the situation. The pirates waited for the _Black Pearl_ to rejoin them, unwilling to enter the fight, and the armada was delayed because they had to transfer command after their flag ship had been sunk. James cared about neither side, though he had no love for war or casualties.

"Let me see," Elizabeth requested. She was anxious that the pirates would flee from the battle now that she wasn't controlling them from the _Black Pearl_. James handed over the spyglass silently, feeling awkward with the realisation that he had to address her as Mrs Turner.

He left her side to oversee the rescue, arriving just as Theodore Groves was fished out of the water. James grabbed the officer's arm and pulled him on deck with a warm greeting, unable to hide how pleased he was to see a long lost friend, "Welcome aboard."

Theodore's jaw dropped, but his natural wit overruled the bewilderment, "Thank you, Admiral," he replied energetically for a man who had swallowed plenty of gunfire smoke and sea water, "permission to wait for the next ship. This one gives me the creeps."

"Since when do you fear a few dusty sails with holes, lieutenant-commander?" James inquired. He was overcome with a feeling that he was still in Port Royal, bantering with his men on a dull, paperwork filled afternoon when they could afford less formality, and when Theodore's eyes lit with amusement and mischief.

Groves was deprived of making no doubt a devastating reply as their exchange was interrupted by Elizabeth joining them.

"James, what can you make of this?" she asked, pointing out three ships positioned as a separate group from the armada, but they were in close quarters with the East Trading Company's ships.

The ships flew King's colours. It was difficult to tell at a distance; however, James recognised the leading ship. "If I'm not mistaken, that's HMS _Providence_," he informed the bystanders. Enough time had passed since he entrusted the Governor Swann to Lieutenant Gillette to reach England and, providing the Governor had been successful, to dispatch an investigation party that was to carry out a strict investigation of the Company's activity in the Caribbean.

Elizabeth must have thought so too because she tugged his arm, impatient to regain the spyglass. "Do you think my father is there?" she asked with renewed interest focusing on the armada. James only spared a sceptical thought that the _Flying Dutchman_ had more commanders than she needed. Sure enough, as soon as the _Endeavour's_ men were gathered on deck, the _Flying Dutchman_ moved to join the _Providence_.

"They've leaving!" Groves exclaimed as the armada broke the formation, following King's command to set sail for Cuba where the investigation was to be held.

"I don't suppose they will fire on us should we approach," James said. His words, however, fell of deaf ears as Elizabeth released an exulted cry as she spotted her father. She removed her hat and waved it in the air until she was spotted. The _Providence_ signalled that they want to talk and changed course to meet with the _Flying Dutchman_.

Long after the vision faded Renee stayed awake, looking into the storm and waiting. Only when the clouds have lifted and the dim morning light flooded the shore, she fell into exhausted sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Hello dear readers, many thanks to all of you who have reviewed and added this story to your alerts and favs. ^^

In addition to writing, I make graphics. If you're looking for icons, I've opened a community - hallowicons - on livejournal. I'll be posting my graphics there, potc included/especially since I'm focusing on this fandom a lot at present. You are welcome to join. Pm me if you have any questions.

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><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

It was a colossal day. For the first time in the forty three years of his happily single life Roberto delved into strenuous contemplation regarding the mysterious world of the holy matrimony. The desire was prompted by his sincerely increasing boredom from having to guard his servant, which he wouldn't have to do were she to become his wife. Sure, Renee was on a scrawny side for his taste, but that's what the wenches were for. The wife was needed to compliment him and clean the pots. He really liked shiny pots.

Roberto thought himself irresistible in his good luck hat that has served him for thirty two years, and got covered in a thick layer of fish remnants and grease accordingly. A pair of boots, he had spat on and rubbed against his legs, worn on bare feet, and a luxuriant bundle of ageratum in the chest pocket of an orange coat completed the outfit.

He only had one vague doubt. As handsome and capable as his father had been, just like his son, he had to ask his mother five times to marry him. Maybe the proposal wasn't as easy as he thought, and some mystical ritual was involved. Thusly so, instead of asking bluntly, Roberto arrived home in full parade, about as welcome as an elephant in china shop, and watched Renee work through the daily chores.

Renee was distinctly uneasy from the awkward staring, but pretended that she didn't notice, observing his distorted face on the pot's shimmering surface. Her mind was occupied by another man. Two weeks have passed without a single vision. The ring kept its secret in silence, becoming once more an ordinary thing. It must have been as her grandmother had warned, and the ring only worked when she was in dire need of reassurance. With Lord Beckett and Mercer dead, there was no one to pursue her. The ring's mission was complete once the grave danger lifted. She should have been happy with it, yet Renee had never felt lonelier in her entire life.

Roberto cleared his throat loudly, and shifted closer. The combined stench of fish and poisonous plant, following him like a baneful cloud, was staggering. His head had never been burdened by too many thoughts, and now it was entirely deserted as he realised that he had no idea how to make a proposal. Renee smiled because in his weird costume Roberto resembled a runaway from a drum maker bongo. Roberto mistook the smile for a positive sign and rolled out his chest.

"I've been thinking about getting a goat for the household," he offered as means of starting a conversation.

"That's clever of you," Renee supported his idea as usual with a compliment. She still hoped he'd eventually blurt out the key's location. "Goats are useful, especially female goats." All Roberto ever ate, and never tired of, was the fish he had caught, which meant that Renee was getting fish leftovers for dinner, breakfast and supper. Renee was sick from the mere sight of fish. She hoped to steal fresh milk from the goat because no doubt she'd have to take care of it.

"Do you like goats then?" Roberto asked, pleased that his idea created a positive response.

"I like them better than bongos," Renee informed him with a half suppressed smile.

"Yeah, me too!" Roberto agreed. He scratched the back of his head as the conversation ran into a dead end. There was nothing else to talk about, and his thoughts turned to what he liked most, fish, and the latest topic, goats.

"I like goats because they're like fish. The fish swim in packs, and the goats also like to be in packs. There is one goat, and when one goats finds another goat, there are two goats," he concluded the most philosophical speech he had ever made.

Renee made a non committal noise. She nearly broke her brain, wondering what he was on about. Every day Roberto left in the morning, either to go fishing, drinking or sailing, and came back after dark. His absence suited her fine. She had no idea what prompted him to arrive midday, dressed for some queer event.

Encouraged by her interest in his persona, Roberto continued, "The goats are a lot like people. People like to be in packs too. Once a goat, er a man, finds a man, er a woman, they stay together." At this Roberto's eloquence was exhausted, but lucky for him Renee put him out of the misery. She figured it out, as unbelievable as it was.

"Are you proposing to me?" she exclaimed. The offer was so unexpected that she dropped the pot and burst into unsurpassable laughter. Tears rolled down her cheeks. As much as she wanted to, Renee couldn't stop the bout of merriment, which she hadn't felt in many years.

More than anything in the world Roberto hated being laughed at. More so, he hated being laughed at when his manhood was insulted. The laughter ceased abruptly as he crashed his fist into Renee's face. The dirty, desolate woman dared to laugh at him. It was unforgivable. Passersby hunched their shoulders and hurried past the hut where the violence broke out. Besides himself, Roberto punched and kicked deaf to the screams and cries for mercy, until he was out of breath and his hands were covered in blood. He spat on the ground and went in search of a drink, leaving an unconscious woman on the sand by his hut.

Renee lay unmoving, the shadows lengthened, and the sun rolled below the horizon. The lanterns and bonfires danced in the doors and windows when the street was disturbed by an appearance of a military man. He passed through the town with unassuming confidence, escorted by a boy about ten years of age who had to run to keep up with his long strides. The people regarded a richly decorated uniform suspiciously, but a masterfully crafted sword within easy reach and a pistol tucked into the man's belt kept all ill wishers from harmful temptations.

"The hut's ova by the sea," the boy chattered nonstop, pointing out the direction. "I heard him bragin' how he keeps his useful servant chained in. Everyone's jealous of it." To show his appreciation, the boy spat through a wide gap between his front teeth.

"Thank you." James handed over the payment before they reached the hut. He spotted an unconscious person in the direction the boy pointed. Regardless whether it was Renee or not, he thought it was best to dismiss the boy who admired a pile of earned coins in his palm, impressed that it was more than he bargained for.

"Ask me if you need to look up anyone else," the boy offered. "I'm always down by the docs helping my pa. He and I know everyone."

James nodded distractedly. He continued alone nearly at a run, abandoning the decorum the closer he got to the battered form on the ground. Although he had lived at Tortuga, he had never learned to become completely indifferent to the vicious laws. He was deeply unsettled that no one stopped to offer help to a severely hurt person.

James knelt in the sand. With great care, fearful to do anymore harm to the frail form, he turned her over and brushed matted hair away from her face. It was difficult to tell who she was due to the dirt and thick traces of dried blood, but a ring on her finger was familiar. "Miss Ash," James called. Getting no response, he checked for pulse, feeling miserable that he had let her down. He should have come for her earlier. Renee's heart was beating, but it was best to take her to a doctor as soon as possible. James examined the chain around her ankle, thinking he wanted to deal violently with whoever was responsible.

"Who the sea devil are you, pawning my servant?" someone bellowed at him. "No one touches her or decides where she can go but me!"

A huge man, resembling a berserk orangutan, with a rum bottle in hand swayed heavily, glaring murderously at the intruder with bloodshot eyes. Apparently, he had a bad day and was itching for a fight, disregarding that his opponent was better armed. His sledgehammer arms and fists were suited for violence.

"Should I take it as a confession that you are the one responsible for beating this woman half to death?" James questioned, rising up with an unrushed composure.

"You should take it as get the Hell out of here!" Roberto shouted.

"I will be glad to as soon as I can take Miss Ash with me," James parried. "Hand over the key, please."

"I'll hand you your head bashed in!" Roberto lunged at James, aiming to hit him over the head with the bottle. He was no match for a well trained military officer, who side stepped him quite easily and smashed his sword hilt against the back of the sailor's head. Roberto caught a mouthful of sand. Lying down on his face, he felt a sword tip press firmly between his shoulder blades.

"I insist."

Cursing an awful day, Roberto surrendered the key. The Admiral, however, wasn't done yet, and his foot shifted on top of Roberto's neck. His voice was low, but held such unmistakable threat that Roberto didn't even question how he'd know.

"Enslaving free individuals is illegal," Norrington informed him. He didn't want one deed to grow into a new practice, concerned by the envy Roberto received from the other sailors. "If you ever dare to hold anyone against their will again, I will personally hang you on your own set of shackles."

Roberto growled at the stuck up wig head, but took his words into consideration. Nursing a giant lump on the back of his head, he sat on the ground, washing the sand out of his mouth with rum, as the intruder unshackled his servant and carried her away.


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you so much for such insightful and intelligent reviews! =) I very much liked them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

Roberto came to marry her again. No matter how fast Renee fled, man's footsteps and heavy breathing down her back followed – they had all her life. "Let me go!" she screamed once she grew too tired to take another step. Roberto laughed just like Adrian had – unkindly, with a ring of superiority as he forced her to turn around. Dark brown eyes, belonging to her former husband, danced with mirth at her assumption that she may have grown a shred of courage just because she had seen someone else act bravely. 'Come back and don't drag others into this,' he told her, stretching out the shackles towards her once more. 'I'll kill him anyway.' The chain coiled around her chest, stealing her breath. Renee shrieked and woke up in unfamiliar surroundings, clawing at the thick layers of bandages wrapped around her.

She was in a cabin. The low, overbearing ceiling was suffocating. Had Roberto finally deemed her worthless and sold her to another demanding master? Too panicked to pay attention to pain, she grabbed a black cloak from a hook by the door and fled outside. The escape was stopped short when she crashed into a chest solid as a wall. An arm went around her waist, saving her from a heavy fall.

All the fight went out of her. Renee stared dully at a dark blue uniform embroidered with gold that belonged to a man of a high social standing. Renee shrunk. As a rule, the more important the man was, the more pain he was capable of inflicting. "Forgive me, my Lord." Renee bowed her head low. Only his hold prevented her from sinking down to his feet.

"Miss Ash you may not be well, nonetheless, I beg do not subjugate yourself. I've never owned such title, nor would I be comfortable with one. Please address me by my name."

There was something familiar about his voice, but it was horribly presumptuous to think they've been acquainted. "I'm sorry, I haven't had the pleasure," she told him.

The man hesitated briefly prior to foregoing the formality due to the necessary of bringing back her memory. "Renee." His hand came under her chin and tilted her face up. "It's me, James."

Had she not seen him in visions, she wouldn't have recognised him. He was almost impossible to recognise in this highly reserved man who maintained perfectly polished facade without a hair out of place and a strict military posture that had been absent even when he had served Beckett, possibly so because he had doubted that he was doing the right thing. Her search stopped when she encountered his sea green eyes. She had never fully believed the visions that he had been looking for her, yet the arm around her waist was too warm and too solid to doubt. "Why have you come for me?" she asked.

"I always keep my promises."

She didn't know what to say though she wondered what happened after Roberto beat her unconscious. Norrington was uneasy as well. He spoke to her like she was extremely ill, in mind not just in body. He seemed anxious to give her a few firmer words and a shake because the independent and sarcastic woman he had known had gotten lost.

"Would you like to return to the hospital?" It was a suggestion rather than a question, but Renee shook her head and freed herself from his hold as much as it was possible. He maintained a firm grip on her elbow, otherwise she would have fallen. Renee didn't want to go back to the suffocating cabin. She walked slowly, taking in the surroundings coloured in gold and pink hues of the rising sun. Norrington tolerated her decision to go for a walk, and accompanied her dutifully. She kept going, although every bit of her body hurt. Fresh air brought back the clarity of thought. Her footing wobbled so much because she was out at sea. The ship's name was engraved on the helm, HMS _Providence_.

Renee nearly jumped out of her skin when an officer came up behind them and informed the Admiral that he was ready to take the morning watch. Lieutenant had a dramatic, nearly dandy look about him, although his uniform was no different than that of the other officers. The freckles on his nose reflected in the polished to shine shoe buckles. Ginger eyebrows rose to the wig line and his lips quirked in amusement as he regarded the unfamiliar figure.

The black cape hid the bandages and most of Renee's features. Norrington's grip on her elbow made it look like he had caught a dirty, thieving stowaway. The officer stepped closer to arrest her, and then wrinkled his nose and covered it with his hand.

"Sir, who may this be?" he inquired cheerfully. "Should we prepare accommodations for him in the brig or perhaps the pig cage? Though, I fear the rats and pigs may take offense at the company."

As mortifying as it was, Renee acknowledged the truth with bitterness. Roberto had never heard of hygiene, which could have been said about Tortuga in general. She stunk morbidly after spending weeks chained to a ball. Renee felt grateful that Norrington had kept a perfectly composed face and allowed her to lean on him. The Admiral, however, was more so embarrassed than the woman insulted.

"Miss Renee Ash is not a prisoner, Mr Gillette, she is a passenger. She is the reason for our voyage to Tortuga," Norrington corrected. It was not proper to snap at the officer, but the Admiral's heavy disapproval showed. "Your suggestion is not befitting an officer of the Royal Navy."

Gillette's eyes doubled in size drastically. He clearly doubted that this was a lady rather than a vagrant. "My apologies, Admiral, and Miss Ash," he offered just so he wouldn't displease his commander, rather than motivated by shame. Renee imagined that after the shift he would sit in the company of his fellow officers and narrate as a joke about the scarecrow he encountered who turned out to be a woman.

Norrington sensed the falseness too. "Her accommodations will be in your quarters until we reach Port Royal because she isn't comfortable at the hospital," he informed the officer.

Both Renee and Gillette were horrified. Lieutenant hurried to excuse himself to prepare the accommodations before he earned any further punishment. He shot Renee a dirty look behind Norrington's back. 'You will stink up the place so much that I won't be able to air it out in a year,' he meant. Renee desperately wished that Norrington had chosen a different means of discipline or none at all. She didn't want enemies. Of course the lieutenant blamed her for losing his quarters. She would have been fine in the brig or even in the pig den as long as it spared her from hostility. At this point she didn't mind returning to the hospital or hiding in some hole away from everyone's eyes.

Her acquaintance with the crew, however, was not over. As soon as Gillette disappeared, the pair was ambushed by a tall woman draped in a black dress. White, ironed cap sat primly on her black, liberally mixed with grey, hair that was wrapped in a tight bun. She swooped down on them like a large bird, wrathfully storming past Renee.

"You," she exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at James with no less force than a general sending troops into battle, "are a bad influence. Not only do you have a tendency to run away from the hospital, but you also abduct my patients!"

"It was my idea. I needed to get fresh air," Renee interfered on the behalf of the accused.

"Oh, don't go making excuses for him! He deserves every bit of scolding he gets," the woman assured.

Though this flare of temper was not befitting a ship run on perfect discipline, the Admiral accepted the scolding kindly. "Miss Renee Ash, allow me to introduce Doctor Katelyn Hart. The most brilliant surgeon I have ever met, her husband aside, and with a temper to match the Port Royal cannons."

The doctor looked down her nose unimpressed, but postponed any morale reading for the sake of her patient. "You may call me Kate, my dear," she allowed. "I need to talk to you about your injuries in private, so we will return to the hospital. I have no idea how you are keeping upright with the cracked ribs and a broken arm, and I'm not even mentioning all the other scrapes and bruises. It will take weeks to recover fully!" She eyed James speculatively, expecting something from him, and then added, "I don't think I should allow you to walk at all, nor should Mr Norrington."

"Providing Miss Ash allows me to rectify my mistake, I'll be happy to carry her back to the hospital," Norrington told them, less at ease than before. Renee was no less dismayed than he was. No man had ever lifted her in his arms, not even on her wedding day. The only memories came from a distant childhood when her father held her, which by far wasn't the same.

For her part, Katelyn had no reservations about flustering the younger generation, secretly enjoying it. "Oh, I don't know," she pretended to think about it, and then winked at Renee. "I think you can trust him to do so. I've known him since he was a lieutenant, and he is a very good boy, with the exception when it comes to healing."

Katelyn's passion and forwardness were compelling. Renee felt safe enough to respond, "I believe I know what you mean." She recalled how James went exploring her house when he could barely stand.

The doctor caught on that she hadn't been the only one who had to chase James to tend to his injuries, and she smiled at him openly, cherishing the opportunity to express her indignation that he was so poor at watching out for his own well being. "You simply must tell me what happened to him, so we can compare the experience, and as a doctor I must keep record of all his previous injuries."

Though James kept a neutral expression, Renee thought she heard a quiet groan. He wasn't too happy about the prospect of having two women gossip about him, more so dissect his bad habits and complain about his behaviour. As far as he was concerned, the doctor's basin was meant for cleaning the tools, not washing his bones.

Under Katelyn's watchful guidance, he carried Renee to the hospital and set her on the bed only to be unceremoniously ushered out of the cabin. "I need to loosen the bandages around her chest and check her breathing, which isn't for your eyes," the doctor informed him, closing the door in his face.

James huffed in annoyance, but he was happy to get away before the doctor changed her mind and found a reason to detain him in the hospital.

"Don't worry about badgering him. He is far too important for his own good," Katelyn stated seeing that Renee cast an uncertain look at the door. The doctor showed James out before Renee could thank him.

"I don't think he is in danger of getting his head lost in the clouds. He's been through a lot in his life, including being humbled," Renee explained vaguely. She didn't think that the Admiral was proud of his life at Tortuga, and just like her, he didn't want to share it. It was his story to tell those who deserved to hear it.

"True enough, but he still should be taken less seriously at least by some people," Katelyn agreed. "In any case, I'm glad he has a friend. He has a lot of bootlickers and hero worshipers, but not a lot of friends he needs. Port Royal isn't what it used to be," she said bitterly. Desolation of her dear home was painful, and she simply resolved to stand by it. "We will have more fighting ahead before we can restore what we've had," she predicted, and then shrugged off the unpleasant thoughts concerning the future, being too strong for brooding.

"I don't know who I am to him," Renee judged it safe to confess. "I've known him too little. I'm someone who needed rescuing, I suppose, and he did. He likes to save others."

"You seem to understand him well enough," Katelyn commented.

"I'll be glad should that be true."

"I need to examine you," Katelyn resumed her duties, though she hoped that eventually Renee will tell her more about her acquaintance with James. She always sympathised with her patients, which made Renee likable by default until proven wrong, whereas the nature of the injuries went against everything she valued. James explained over and over that he didn't have the authority to arrest everyone around the world just because he could at Port Royal, unless it was pirates he was dealing with, but the doctor maintained a stubborn opinion that anyone who could treat another human being like that deserved to be imprisoned.

Renee obediently removed the cloak that matched Katelyn's black dress. When she lowered the hood, Renee encountered only the material folds. With a growing dread, she touched what was left of her hair that was nearly chopped down to the roots.

"I'm sorry." Katelyn sat down beside her patient and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "There was too much dry blood and mud. But, there are no burns or anything that would prevent your hair from growing back."

It was the last straw. Renee hadn't felt that sorry for herself before, but now she did. She buried her face in her hands and cried. Hadn't she been judged filthy and ugly enough that now she didn't even have her hair.

Katelyn remained with her until the crying subsided, and then stood to mix fragrant herbs into a cup of water. "Aren't we women silly creatures?" she said. "You haven't been complaining about the nearly broken ribs, but you are crying over cut hair."

Renee obediently sipped the offered mixture that was warm and soothing. "Crying was stupid of me," she muttered in embarrassement.

"Crying purifies the soul."

Katelyn took away the cup. Her hands were going through all the motions she had been doing for at least thirty years, taking care of the injured, but she was focused more on soothing wounds that lay in the heart. "I always hated feeling sorry for myself, even when my husband died." She adjusted the last knot on the bandages, and motioned Renee to lie down. Her voice was sad and distant. "He was a navy doctor. I couldn't part from him, so I went out to sea wherever he went, helping him until I've learned his craft. Everything I was, I've done with him. He was dead, and I stopped being. And then James came, he was a Captain then, and he said he wants me to look at his arm. He had a minor wound. He wanted to show me that my life continued. I could be a doctor without my husband. And then I cried, and after crying I could breathe easier."

"He's a good man," Renee said quietly. The ship's rocking and Katelyn's presence was calming.

"He is, and you'll be safe with him," Katelyn assured. She picked up her cloak off the floor, and hung it back on the wall. "You should rest easy. We're about five hours from Port Royal, unless the weather changes. I'm afraid it will be more stress moving you about after we dock. I've tended your injuries yesterday, late in the evening when James brought you to me, which is hardly enough to recover."

Renee didn't answer. When the doctor turned around, her patient was deeply asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Coming into the bay of Port Royal was a sorry sight. Although, the town didn't change drastically in the past year, there was gloom overcastting it that even bright sunlight couldn't dispel. The streets were a fraction muddier, the locks on the homes that used to shine with the fresh paint were bigger, and the stray dogs formerly belonging to the hung citizens skulked around, taking revenge on the people for betraying them to hunger and homelessness. Even the British flag, soaring above the fort walls was bleak and burned out.

That flag had to be changed, least someone would think that the town was controlled by vagrants, James considered as he examined the port from the _Providence's_ deck. It was nothing compared to the other problems, but at least it was easy to fix.

The East Trading Company, having squeezed all possible benefits out of the Port Royal, abandoned it. The town without a governor had been left under the supervision of Captain Peterson who commanded an old twenty gun ship HMS _Adventure_ that provided little protection against the looting and growing foreign interest. Even with the piracy backed into a corner, there were plenty of vultures to take advantage of the slightest weakness in the Port Royal's defences. The fort armament may have kept the intruders from overrunning the town, yet nothing stopped the bandits from landing along the shoreline and pillaging before the military could muster the retaliation forces.

Regardless of the honest and straight forward job the Captain had been doing, the British came disastrously close to losing control of the region when three heavily armed ships entered the waters under command of Admiral Norrington. The Crown, in retrospect, considered the port a strategic location worth to support with resources and military standing. The sight of a heavily armed HMS _Providence_, leading the group, reduced the looter's zeal. Whereas, the presence of the two supporting ships showed that the British intended to keep their presence permanent. HMS _Silver_, a beauty named for her shimmering grey sails, aside from the finery carried forty three guns. The flotilla was supported by HMS _Hero_ with twenty two guns, a lithe predator very much like the former _Interceptor_ in built and speed. The intruders were forced to abandon their aggressive presence, but not their ambitions. They lay low, observing with a growing dislike the steps taken by the new government to re-establish the order, and waiting for the opportunities to destroy those efforts.

Apparently, they found one. Coming into the port, the first alarming sign was HMS _Silver_ and _Hero_ anchored alongside the coast, not at their assigned location. As the _Providence_ swiftly covered the distance, Norrington focused his spyglass on the craning _Silver _that swayed like a seagull with a broken wing without her foremast. Sensing that no longer endangered ship was only the tip of the conflict rather than resolution, he folded the spyglass with a greater force than necessary and addressed the doctor, who having ensured that her patient was safe and sleeping came to watch their arrival.

"Katelyn, I trust you to take care of Miss Ash. Please get all the help you need in moving her to my home where I have a room prepared. My butler knows which. I've warned him that we'll have a long term guest staying."

"One more disaster on the plate; and we've been away no longer than four days!" Katelyn expressed his thought out loud, correctly interpreting the Admiral's brief flare of dissatisfaction that something went amiss. "I suppose we should be grateful that we haven't returned to find Jack Sparrow as the island's new Governor."

"I wouldn't be surprised to catch him impersonating the King of England," Norrington said ruthfully. Sparrow's mention always soured his mood. The more James had seen of the rogue Captain, the less he wanted to hear about him. He was anxious for an explanation why _Silver_ was damaged, though the reason became apparent when the _Providence_ came alongside the scorched, covered in soot dock. The Admiral was composure itself, waiting to disembark with his hands clasped behind his back, and inwardly willing the plank to extend faster so he could join Peterson.

The Captain looked dejected, being the first in line with one of his lieutenants to greet the Admiral. Norrington expected to see Groves instead. The Commander always reacted to the emergencies faster than others. His common sense and pragmatism provided a valuable insight in the aftermath.

"What caused the fire?" Norrington cut to the point.

Peterson hesitated. He must have composed a step by step report, thus the question threw him off. It was the lieutenant who answered, "Sabotage."

At the Admiral's gesture to continue he explained, "The incident occurred two nights past your leave. At midnight, the watchman heard suspicious shuffling and went to investigate. There was an intruder aboard _Silver_. The man in response to the halt order smashed a lamp, setting the ship on fire, and attempted to flee. Once the fire was put out, we've discovered traces of oil and two barrow hoops. Had the sabotage succeeded we could have lost both _Silver_ and _Hero_ that was docked in close quarters."

"Has the intruder shed light on his magical ability to slip past the guards unnoticed with a barrow of oil in hand?" Norrington asked. The security for every ship after Sparrow's venture was intensified. It was difficult even for a cat to sneak aboard.

"He cannot," said lieutenant. "He was shot by the watchman when he tried to run."

Norrington couldn't fault the watchman for doing his job, yet the intruder could have been detained for questioning, considering the number of solders in the vicinity.

"I've personally checked the doc and both ships no more than two hours prior," the Captain put in. "There was nothing to raise my suspicions."

"I intend to question everyone who can provide even the slightest insight. This matter will not be put to rest," Norrington stated. He didn't trust that there will be no further attempts to destroy the ships or that someone could execute the sabotage alone.

Peterson thought the same. "We've separated _Hero_ and _Silver_ to put them at lesser risk. The repairs are done under close guard," he outlined the taken precautions.

"Thank you, Captain. I will hold you accountable for the successful completion of the repairs," Norrington said coldly, more so frustrated by Peterson's defeated look than by the incident. There was no need to blame solely one man because the sabotage could have occurred with anyone in charge. Norrington could, however, blame himself for failing to anticipate that with the _Providence_ gone and two ships destroyed, the port could have been left vulnerable. "I would like to discuss this matter with Commander Groves," he said. It was best to form a plan of action with someone who could offer an opinion aside from a report.

The Captain dropped his eyes guiltily. Prior, he stood rigid, squaring himself for criticism. "Commander Groves and several men took a grave risk to save the ships; he the most."

"Is he dead?" Norrington snapped. The scorching sun suddenly felt cold, but it was only a cloud and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"No, Sir. There were no casualties. Commander is at the hospital. Doctor Riker treated for burns and smoke inhalation everyone who was injured while putting out the fire."

"You will be able to find me at the hospital then," James said, deciding to postpone anything else that required his immediate attention. "Please follow the docking procedure for the _Providence_."

It would have been fair of him to fill out the documentation for his ship, even if Peterson didn't get offended, thinking that he got off lightly. Yet, there was always a part of him James couldn't put ahead of duty. He wanted to see how badly his friend was injured, for once using the commanding privileges to his advantage rather than getting more headaches out of his rank.

James chose to walk, feeling the need to subdue the restless energy. The hospital was a newly erected building tucked safely behind the fort. It was built no longer than five years back, not without James' input, and served as a source of pride for Weatherby Swann who had eagerly supported the project. It was under supervision of Doctor Riker who ever considered himself in James' debt for bringing his idea to the Governor. The nurses were strictly instructed to admit Norrington day or night; the right he unfortunately used too often.

The doctor rushed out of his office, and personally led Norrington to the room where he treated the recent group: nine men, and two he released in the morning. All of them were treated for burns. At worst they could have suffered lung damage. Some men have inhaled unhealthy amount of smoke. They've been suffering severe coughing fits, but Riker was confident that all patients would recover within a week.

The crewmen greeted the Admiral enthusiastically. He thanked them for saving the ships, and inquired about their well being prior to moving to the back of the room where his first officer was confined to bed.

Theodore regarded his friend stoically, on the right of the patient not bothering to salute his superior. He would have, had it been any other unfamiliar Admiral walking in as he had the ambition to advance in ranks and a good sense of manners that helped him along. Commander knew how to present himself respectfully without the bootlicking, even if at present he hardly resembled a heroic officer in a rumpled shirt he was wearing last night and then slept in. His hands were heavily bandaged. The left side of his face was burning red under a thin layer of balm.

"Have you come to question me regarding _Silver_?" he asked, thinking that in the company of the crew members Norrington was unlikely to discuss anything personal when there was work to be done.

"Peterson's report will suffice temporarily," James said. "I came to see how you are." He was too good at concealing injuries to miss when another feigned well being.

In support of his suspicion, Theodore broke down into a violent coughing fit. The battle with fire was costly to his health. James clasped Theodore's shoulder, waiting for the shudders that wrecked his body to subside.

"Judging by your face I do not have long," Groves confided in a raspy voice, but his eyes were clear. "As a dying man, I beg that you fulfill my final request. Please scratch my back."

On duty Groves was the formality itself, but in unofficial circumstances his behaviour changed drastically. James found that he couldn't always keep up with the altering formality. He simply trusted his friend when they could relax, and followed Theodore's lead. "Very well, I vow to make your passing comfortable and itch free," James promised.

"Severity of itch is proportional to reach," Groves stated wisely. "My shoulder blade itches enough to bring me to the brink of the insanity."

"You would have lost little," James quipped. "You have long outlived your wits, taking risks that you did."

"What do you suggest?" Groves dropped his voice in consideration for the other men in the room. They weren't trying to overhear the conversation, but an argument would have drawn attention. "Should I have let her burn?"

"Yes. You could have ordered everyone onto _Hero_ and moved her away from the doc."

"I suspect you would have done no differently than I did," Theodore said quietly, but once more directed them to a friendly banter, "and besides how could I miss a chance to look like a dazzling hero?"

"You may look more like a dazzling hero with a medal on your coat, but it looks like you've given that wish away in exchange for a back scratch."

"I won't beat you in the number of medals regardless," Theodore argued, "If we loaded all yours onto the _Providence_ she would surely sink." Receiving a medal, nonetheless, appealed to him.

"You may yet catch up," James assured. He resolved to reward those who took part in putting out the fire on the way to the hospital. "As the Admiral, I'm in charge of assigning to you all the medals you deserve, whereas it would be awfully immodest to give them to myself."

"There I was thinking that people became Admirals for the purpose of giving themselves as many medals as their coat can take without ripping," Theodore jibed.

James coughed into his fist, suppressing a laugh. They had the fortune to meet such an individual who over indulged in outshining a pirate treasure chest. Groves hadn't been amused at that time when the treasured coat had suffered an accident of falling overboard, and he had to dive after it.

"You may want to re-evaluate your flattering opinion about your superiors. You may one day become one as a divine punishment," he defended the Admiralty nonetheless.

"I just hope that one day we will live long enough to retire," Theodore said. "I almost thought I was done for when the mast caught fire. We were chopping it down surrounded by fire and smoke. The smoke was the worst. My eyes were swollen two days after."

It was no complaint, just a quiet reflection of the reality.

"We will find the responsible party," James told his friend quietly. "That I promise."


	16. Chapter 16

Hey everyone, hope you're having a good time reading. XD Congrats to the site on the new image manager feature. Hope it will be finetuned and used.

Meanwhile, this is my first fic to get a banner! The 60x90 is puny, so I've put up a link to the 300x450 image on my profile. Check it out if you're curious about the visual on Renee and James.

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><p><strong>Chapter 16 <strong>

The air was fresh. Renee breathed it in deeply and greedily, unregretful to pay with an accompanying stab of pain from the abused ribs. It's been long since the air wasn't dinted by smoke, spoiled fish and unwashed men. The breeze seeped into the room through a lace curtain. Wincing, Renee abandoned the bed and stumbled towards the window beyond which lay the beach line curved like a golden horseshoe that was filled by the azure sea.

"I'm glad you feel well enough to disregard any advice I may have given you about not walking had you stayed in bed and waited for my return, but you chose to wake up while I was attending to my needs."

"I'm sorry." Her heart beating wildly, Renee spun around. It was dangerous to let anyone come up behind her unnoticed, even if that someone was only the doctor.

Fight ready lines around Katelyn's mouth softened and she shook her head slightly. "Don't let a grouchy, old lady intimidate you," she advised.

Renee nodded awkwardly, unsure whether to agree that she shouldn't or protest that age was too intimidated by the passion and energy to leave any severe dents on Katelyn, grouchiness best left unmentioned. "Where am I?" she asked as the doctor motioned her gently to sit down on the bed.

"This is James' home. Although, it's difficult to call it such, considering that he barely lives in it, and it has been abandoned for a year. He reclaimed it less than two weeks ago."

A year, Renee connected the event with their meeting at Tortuga, so that was the gap in his life few people knew about. Otherwise, his entire life was different and far removed from her reality. "James told me about the shipwreck," Renee confided, hoping it would encourage Katelyn to tell her more about him than the doctor would share with someone outside his confidence.

"His home was confiscated by the authorities, following his resignation," Katelyn explained, eager to have a discussion companion who truly understood James and wouldn't turn any information against him. "However, no one wanted to buy it. We rarely have wealthy new comers, whereas no locals wanted to claim it, suspecting that the authorities have done something shady to take it from him. The people thought it would be disrespectful. The house was returned into James' possession once he came back. It's still hardly habitable, but at least Thomson has done an excellent job fixing this room for your arrival."

"I'm grateful." The extended generosity was unexpected. Renee thought she'd be moved to the port's hospital until full recovery and then sent on her way. No more could have been asked of the Admiral after he had fulfilled his promise to rescue her.

The change put her ill at ease. Renee was used to dealing with threats, but left puzzled how to respond to the good deeds and her new accommodations. The room was beautiful, draped in pastel blues. Its freshness and clarity of the windows unmarred by a single speck of dust, made her feel woefully inadequate compared to the surroundings. She was like a dark, ugly spider dropped onto a white marble floor in a brightly lit room where there was no shadiest, dirtiest corner to hide in.

"You are welcome," Katelyn assured her. "Don't hesitate to ask should you need anything. You may as well accept that James is resolved to take care of you. It's not the best idea to leave him guessing."

Renee thought it was unlikely that she will ever be comfortable to ask for anything, but there was one thing she desperately needed. "I would like to take a bath. Please," she grabbed Katelyn's wrist, keeping her from protesting. "I know it won't do the bandages any good and might irritate the bruises, but I won't feel any better until I wash everything off."

"It won't clean your soul," said Katelyn. Nonetheless, she conceded to the pleading, and within an hour she led Renee to the bathing room. Discretely, she observed as the woman took in the house. It was a melancholy sight with the empty spaces along the walls that used to be filled with paintings. It was underhanded to sell the place piece by piece once they couldn't get rid of the entire thing. Renee didn't comment, giving little away where her feelings were concerned, but Katelyn sensed that her mind was flying and piecing together all she was learning.

Renee was underestimating herself. Once she recovered a little, she would match James Norrington in determination, if not to say stubbornness, although it would take a far more flexible and diplomatic form because she was smart enough to take into consideration that she lacked power. The trait was evident when seemingly pleadingly, Renee put the doctor on the other side of the bathroom's door, insisting that she needed to be alone. Katelyn gave in for the benefit of Renee's lacking confidence, if not without showing her full dislike for the idea.

Renee was grateful that Katelyn left her be. She grew accustomed to being alone while living on Tortuga. As much as she appreciated help, she was relieved when she knelt alone by the tub, sliding her hand through the crystal water in silence. She looked through a nearby stand, selecting a bottle filled with a deep green liquid, which Katelyn insisted was good for soothing sore muscles and bruises, and poured it into the water. She sniffed the bottle delicately, recognising some of the herbs. Judging by another larger bottle on the shelf, the mixture was kept for more than the visitors' pleasure. James must have used it frequently, preferring to fix his aches discretely than visiting the doctors.

The water coloured to a light brown when Renee stepped into the tub. Thin layer of mud covered her palm as she brushed her hand across her face. She couldn't tell whether it was the remnants of a mask or her true identity. Savagely, set to the task of removing all dirt, scraping her skin almost to blood. She ignored the sting and dull throbbing of the broken arm. The pain was a constant, which she learned to tolerate. Katelyn stated the truth, the water was not going to change who she was, but it would bring her closer to blending in, at least to deceive the others. But, Renee was afraid to look in the mirror as she got out of the bath and limped over to the towels and a neat pile of clothes left for her by the butler. The primary piece of it was a white robe down to the floor, fitted with a simple belt. The loose garment enveloped her like a soft cloud, without a slightest discomfort to her ribs. Renee threw it over her shoulders before leaving the bathroom and submitting to Katelyn, a touch guiltily for giving the doctor more work to redo the bandages.

Katelyn, for her part, was long over the problem, having anticipated it when she was giving her consent for the bath. She was doing her job well, but there was quickness and urgency in her efficient hands. "James is home," she explained curtly. "He's waiting for us to join him at the dinner table."

It was later than Renee thought. While she'd been attempting to make herself look like a human being, the sunrays turned scarlet as the sun touched the horizon and the shadows lengthened. She felt unprepared to face other people. "I don't even have hair to appear in civilized company," she muttered bleakly.

"You could try wearing one of James' wigs," Katelyn stated.

"That is a wonderful joke! I hope you won't take it to heart if I don't laugh at it," Renee exclaimed sarcastically, not that it wasn't tempting to. She had done well, trying to be as unappealing as possible to avoid harassment on Tortuga, while learning to care very little what others thought. Yet, even all the disdain she collected for humanity didn't stop a sudden urge to panic that her saviour would see the only woman within a thousand miles who had no hair.

"I have an idea," the doctor took pity on her. Katelyn removed her sash, and threw it over Renee's head, wrapping the loose ends around her neck. "It doesn't look too bad," she commented.

"The wolves are fed and the wig is safe," Renee couldn't help a jab. She should have given up on her appearance.

Her opinion, however, didn't last as she was led to the dining room where James was waiting. This was yet another side of him. He was different at home, slightly more relaxed, possibly so because the uniform was missing. He was less intimidating without the hat, but hanging on to the formality as he addressed Renee and Katelyn by their last names. The doctor had none of it and chastised him for making her feel like an old bag rather than a friend.

"You look well," he told Renee.

She looked at him in surprise, expecting to find traces of sarcasm. With half of her face being one large bruise, she looked well enough to hang with three corpses she saw in a vision and scare the pirates away from Port Royal.

"I believe you look better than you did on the ship," he amended at her reaction. "I'm glad you are getting better."

"And no one is thanking me for it," Katelyn interfered, seeing that Renee was tongue tied.

"My gratitude to you is beyond words," James quipped. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart and with a blueberry pie, which Thompson claims he has for us."

The butler, who was still as a statue with the most unreadable face during the exchange, patiently waiting to serve dinner, took a slight, dignified bow once he was mentioned.

The table was small, suited to accommodate no more than four people. Sitting down, Renee felt a small tap against her leg under the table. James quickly moved his chair and shifted in his seat, rearranging his long limbs uncomfortably to avoid disturbing her.

Delicious scents were dizzying. It was a simple meal, served flawlessly, and most inviting to the trio who have neglected food at least since the morning. All of them regarded the food hungrily, but in the present company kept a civil composure, slicing it with the forks and knives rather than wolfing it down. It was well the James' presence made Renee shy. It was next to impossible for a starved person to show restraint once they were given food.

"Miss Ash," he called. Renee didn't hear him, solely focused on her plate and chewing each piece slowly, so he tried her name after brief hesitation. "Renee." She looked up at him nervously.

"I trust, rather hope, that your accommodations are comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you."

"She'll need help," Katelyn said plainly, and Renee felt a stab of annoyance to be pointed out. "I'm responsible for more than one patient, so I'm leaving today. Having someone to help her dress and walk, although she should be resting, will be helpful."

Renee swallowed a mouthful, trying to say that she didn't need any help and didn't want to trouble anyone, but she was beaten by Norrington who assured that he will take care of the problem. "I'm confident that Riker will be pleased to see you," he said to Katelyn before the subject was argued. "Silver's crew members have been injured. He tended the injuries, but he'll be interested in hearing what you have to say."

"So will you, it seems."

In spite of the neutral tone, and desire to show no favouritism, the doctor noticed his concern, and he acknowledged her observation with a slight tilt of his head. "Groves is injured. Personal concern aside, I need him healthy as soon as possible."

"Well then, I propose a toast," said Katelyn, and Thompson took it as a sign to pour white wine into the glasses. "This has been a difficult week, but it's fair to say that once more we've survived another trial thrown at us by fate. I raise my glass to the quick recovery and renewed strength to face the new challenges."

"I second that," said James, raising the glass to his lips.

Renee followed his suit, but she thought that she had enough challenges for a lifetime, and made a silent wish for peace.


	17. Chapter 17

The Governor's mansion seemed untouched by the passage of time, still bright and spacious; and only the newly replaced, darkly glimmering gate bars hinted at the skirmishes past and the _Black Pearl's_ invasion.

Ever since his return, James went to great lengths to avoid this place, although due to the arising issues in the town's running, which could only be settled together with the Governor, he couldn't neglect paying official visits. The reason for his elusiveness was namely Elizabeth Turner, but today he waited for her at the entry hall, for Renee's benefit appealing to the woman who wounded his heart.

Dressed on the whim of the latest fashion, Elizabeth transformed into an elegant woman once more. There was nothing to give her away as the Pirate King to the wildest imagination with the exception of a tiny negligence she allowed for her rich attire as she went down the steps, impatiently lifting the hem of her dress higher than the propriety allowed simply because it restricted her.

"James! It's good to see you!"

Elizabeth greeted him enthusiastically with a smile no other than dallying. Whenever she looked at him directly, James felt pinned down by her gaze. Her eyes were soft brown, similar in shape to Renee's, but a shade lighter, and lit with a youthful confidence and an open challenge; whereas Renee's darker brown was a guarded mystery that lured into hidden depths.

"You do not visit enough!" Elizabeth reproached.

"My apologies, Port Royal has been left in a poor shape by the former authorities. I'm unavailable to spend my time frivolously, as is your father."

"I suppose you are here to see him," she asked, clearly disappointed.

"As a matter of fact, I'm here to see you, Lady Turner."

"Elizabeth," she corrected. It suited her to dispose of the formalities once she forgave him. Now that Elizabeth didn't feel threatened by the marriage to a man she used to think of as a strict, boring uncle, she felt free to flirt with him. James sensed that behind her cheerfulness and easy manner lay melancholy. The wedding band on her finger was a testament. Parted from her husband who was out at sea performing the ferryman duty, Elizabeth returned to Port Royal with her father, her only relative whom she loved dearly. However, she longed for the sea where her heart was buried beneath the waves. She was drawn closer to James because he had been a small part of that life beyond Port Royal that she couldn't find in anyone else on land.

"I have a request," he avoided disputing her name, aware that they both were set on having their way. "I assume you have been informed that Miss Ash is staying with me. My home is poorly suited to accommodate a lady. I would like to hire a maid to assist her. Your recommendation would be most appreciated." He couldn't risk hiring a complete stranger, whereas he had been too long out of touch with any other families of a high social standing to ask them a favour.

Elizabeth shortly contemplated whether she should be offended that he came to use her, but her curiosity won. "I believe I can find a suitable maid. Are there any qualities you would like to see in her or wouldn't tolerate?"

"I prefer the one who is not fond of gossip," said James. This was a great weakness in the Swann's household.

"If that is all, it will be my pleasure to be of assistance," Elizabeth dismissed the issue. James hoped she wouldn't conveniently forget about it, seeing it as unimportant. "Do tell, with all your work amounting, I take it you haven't had the time to introduce Miss Ash into the social circle. I'd like to meet her and remedy this lack of fairness."

"You are welcome to visit. However, Miss Ash has been injured. Meeting new families will be too overwhelming for her." James cringed inwardly at the route this conversation was taking.

"That's ridiculous! She must be dying of boredom, being locked up in a house, just as I am awfully bored. At least let me meet her. I'm sure she will appreciate a company of a young lady same age as her. Please don't deny me the opportunity." Elizabeth still enjoyed spending time with her acquaintances, but she was often tempted to escape their company. She was mostly well received by other women her age, at least none of them spoke ill of her in her presence. However, gallivanting around the seas with the pirates alienated her from them.

James succumbed to the inevitable, former Miss Swann invading his home. "I will inform Miss Ash about your visit, but I think we should let her decide whether she's fit to meet anyone else," said James. He made an all too evident gesture, planning to take his leave.

"You will not stay for tea?" Elizabeth questioned. "I was rather hopeful for your company!" She regarded him pleadingly through the long eyelashes. Whenever she did so, James felt flustered and teased by something he couldn't have, although he was no longer sure that it was what he wanted.

"I very much prefer your company to the paperwork waiting for me at the fort, but I fear it will overflow my office and my secretary will desert the Navy should I neglect it any longer."

"If you must, then I should let you go," Elizabeth ill conceded with a pronounced pout. "Good day to you, Mr Norrington."

James bowed and took his leave.

The news waiting for him as the fort was more exciting than the long neglected paperwork. It was presented to him in a form of a tight bundle wrapped together by a leather belt, consisting of white breeches and a red coat. "This has been fished out of the water by the doc where the fire started," Phillip reported. "I thought it might be important."

"Indeed," James replied thoughtfully, examining the uniform for any traces that could further the investigation. However, the abandoned fabric had no unusual markings, providing only one clue. "This is very important, Gillette. This is how the intruder got aboard the _Silver_, by posing as one of the marines."

"That's an astute conclusion. Either you're right or the mermaids are responsible, but we can't blame everything on the sea beasts!" Phillip exclaimed. His excitement, however, was quickly replaced by puzzlement. "But, is it not improbable for the disguise to turn him completely invisible?" he ventured cautiously. "All watchmen know each other. An unfamiliar crewman would have drawn attention. The others may have made an initial mistake and haven't stopped him, but when we questioned everyone who was on the _Silver_ that night, they referred to what the others were doing as well. None of them mentioned the new watchman."

"You're asking all the right questions, Lieutenant," James acknowledged. "Because the uniform was thrown into the water, it must have served only to get him aboard. But, he didn't mingle with the watchmen. I would like to understand as well where he was hiding and how he avoided detection once he got past the doc guards."

"Should we search the _Silver_ then?" asked Gillette. "Perhaps, the saboteur had left more traces than this uniform."

"Without delay," said James. He didn't want any clues to be destroyed.

"Understood," said Gillette

James watched the lieutenant leave to carry out the order with something akin to envy. Searching the ship was a far more adventurous task than keeping appointment with a dreaded pile of documents in his office that grew bigger the higher his rank. He was organised, however, stationary activities were most burdensome. It was not in his character to sit still hours to no end.

With a stifled sigh, James took a seat behind his desk and picked up the first page from a toppling pile, placing it flat on the table top. The tiny words on the page written in a messy scrawl were making little sense. His mind was drifting. He wondered how well Renee was settling in his home when Katelyn was no longer there to help her. She was not exactly alone. He trusted Thompson completely. However, the butler was no great conversationalist, aside from providing answers to the concrete questions, and hardly an appropriate company for a young lady. Would Renee be as bored as Elizabeth claimed? His home reflected his down to earth taste that was hardly accommodating or interesting to a woman. He should have at least shown the reading room to her. His collection of books was modest, but encircled classical pieces, which anyone who had the will to read would have found a decent past time. He felt remiss for stalling in showing his home to Renee.

Something wet pressed into his elbow and James cursed mildly, realising that the only thing he managed so far was to put a large ink blob onto a page and mop it up with his sleeve. He pushed all distracting thoughts away and committed to the job at hand until the sunrays inched into the window, making the room unbearably hot. A small watch kept in the drawer told him that he managed a few hours of work, although the pile still looked like no work had been done on it. "Jack Sparrow take you," James muttered, but amended, considering that some of those documents were blackmail worthy.

It was near lunchtime. His secretary would show up soon, praying to find the Admiral in his office, and ask what he wanted to eat. Usually, it was efficient to stay at the fort. Thus, it was exceptionally rare for James to go home at lunch. The habit was to be broken today due to his concern. He hoped that Renee would welcome his company. Coming out of his office, James darted around the nearest corner, skilfully avoiding his secretary who had nearly caught sight of him, for the first time since the morning feeling an uncertain smile.

As it turned out, Renee hasn't had a chance to grow bored. She came to greet James at the door, and confessed shyly that this was breakfast rather than lunch for her. She had slept until afternoon.

"I believe Katelyn will be pleased," said James. He sensed that she was embarrassed, having slept through half of the day. "For my sake, please take a lot of rest. Otherwise, I cannot imagine the punishment she will devise for me."

He nearly looped a supporting arm around Renee's waist, at the last moment stalling the inappropriate impulse and offering his arm to lean on. Formerly she was slim, but now she was so fragile that he was afraid that the slightest touch would break her. He kept every touch delicate worried that he somehow may cause slightest pain.

"It will be awful indeed," said Renee, and he marked that this was her first smile, small as it was. "She may even ask you to take a nap."

"You must not allow such evil," said James with a mock shudder.

"I will do my best to thwart the danger, but only if you promise to have lunch with me as often as your work allows," said Renee. She had no way of knowing that it was uncharacteristic for him. However, he found that this request was not burdensome.

"There is one more person who will be joining us for lunch sometimes this week," said James and Renee tensed. She hadn't shown a slightest desire to meet new people, whereas saying no to the governor's daughter was not an option.

"Will it be one of your officers?" she asked with an understandable weariness. The lieutenant's impulsive words during their first meeting didn't inspire much desire to see him ever again.

"This will not be the case, although they do visit me occasionally," James alleviated her worry. "Elizabeth Turner wants to meet you." He hesitated to explain his relationship with her, deciding that a different introduction will have to suffice, "She is the Governor's daughter."

Renee seemed pacified by his answer, and he felt some weight taken off his heart. "I look forward to meeting this important lady," she told him.


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone. Hopefully, I've got the next chapter up right, though my brain is bored and tired after watching 120 minutes of Roy Hodgson's 'lets send the team out to play for penalties, since we always lose at penalties' brilliant strategising. Euro football championship is on in case someone doesn't know what I'm talking about. XD

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><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

Elizabeth Turner arrived four days later. Making good of her promise, she introduced a middle aged woman with a round face and widely set apart, grey eyes named Molly, who was transferred into Thompson's charge. As a senior servant he was responsible for familiarizing her with the household rules and her duties.

Renee let the others converse as soon as the introduction was over. She learned enough from her visions about Elizabeth's courage and resourcefulness to plant a seed of admiration for the young woman. Yet, she couldn't shake down a disturbing feeling when Elizabeth all too breezily complimented James like it was a game where she took delight in his brief dismay.

Elizabeth, in retrospect, studied Renee openly, not without friendliness; however, there was a hint of a challenge in her manner to pass an unspoken test. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ash, unexpected as your company comes. I do believe James has been remiss. He never mentioned having such an interesting acquaintance," she said as they took seats around the lunch table.

Renee put herself on the other side of James, thinking that she was loosing too much in comparison to the beautiful woman. "Likewise, Mrs Turner," she said, still deciding whether the woman presented a threat. "I'm a distant acquaintance who wouldn't be mentioned often unless you are so deep into James' confidence as to socialize often with him," she emphasized his name purposely, implying that distant as she was, perhaps she knew more about him than Elizabeth. She had no direct knowledge, but James was uncharacteristically shy around this woman, making her think that Elizabeth wouldn't be his confidant.

Cloud like steam rose from the freshly brewed tea in their cups. James felt the subtle tension mixed with a lingering uncertainty what it was about. He pushed his chair as far back as the propriety allowed, dangerously placed between the two women, his intuition screaming that a potential thunderstorm was building up above his head, which he wanted no part of.

"I've known James since I was a child," said Elizabeth, confirming Renee's suspicion that they weren't that close, but she wanted to maintain the advantage over a stranger she didn't trust.

"He must be in your father's confidence then," said Renee, denying the advantage once more. Being acquainted through a relative was not the same as being friends. She understood that backing down from this exchange first meant she wouldn't gain respect of a woman who enjoyed testing others.

Elizabeth studied her intensely. She never liked stupidity, fond of making light of it. This woman had a lot to her advantage, being able to return all jabs quickly. The tension hung above them like a tight strung line, and then it was broken by a smile. "He is indeed," Elizabeth retreated, assuming a friendlier disposition. "They've gotten along quiet well since our first passage from England together. It was quite an exciting adventure. Was it not?"

James made a noncommittal sound. Running into a destroyed ship with one survivor, Will Turner, was not what he considered an exciting adventure. The tension ebbed away as Elizabeth shared her impressions of the voyage. Renee's unfeigned interest, including Elizabeth's fascination with pirates, weighted down the precarious balance in her favour. It was rare to find a companion to discuss her still lingering fascination with the life at sea freely without an underlying disapproval for her fantasies or a feeling that the listener was merely humouring her. Renee, for her part, tried to learn more about James from that lengthily narrative.

As their conversation ran past lunchtime, James was excused from their company, claiming he was obligated to return to the fort. Renee expected Elizabeth to depart as well, but the woman stayed with her.

"I dare say, you've had your share of adventures," she revealed the reason for her stay as soon as James was gone. Renee was about to protest when she realised that this was no accusation. Elizabeth was not about to judge her poorly based on her ill fortune. "I've heard that the _Providence_ sailed to Tortuga, bringing you here afterwards. I may not see anything offensive in your manners, but you do not behave like a citizen of a civilized port. You regard others like they are a threat at first. Unless I'm mistaken, you're a pirate," Elizabeth summarised, clearly thinking that her assessment was not a wrong one.

Renee felt her eyebrows climb up quizzically. Tears built in her eyes and laughter bubbled up in her chest until she couldn't suppress it. "No, I am not a pirate," she choked out through the merriment she was trying to withhold, "But, I've seen them often enough to last me a lifetime."

"I suppose they are behind your injuries," said Elizabeth. She didn't join the laugher, not liking one bit that her conspiracy theory failed. She was not blind to troubles in Port Royal, and thought that James had something planned to address those. She intended to take part in whatever it was.

"Not quite," said Renee, "but you aren't far from the truth." There was no harm in telling Elizabeth about Roberto, although she concealed her imprisonment, beginning her story by saying that she was sleeping in a boat when an oaf of a man grabbed a hold of her.

"And you've let him enslave you just like that?" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"What could I do? Fight him?" said Renee, but the scepticism was lost on Elizabeth.

"Without a doubt!" she stated. "Being on Tortuga forces you to carry weapons! Or at least you must find one when someone is threatening you. Couldn't you have hit him with an oar?"

"That would surely provide him with an excellent idea what to hit me with once he wins."

"You don't know that he'll win, not when you surprise him!" Elizabeth insisted. With a roguish glance around them, she produced a sword from a sheath perfectly concealed in the folds of her dress. "I always go prepared."

Renee recoiled in surprise. It was an elaborately made weapon, balanced between beauty and efficiency, too long for dagger and too short to be a sword. In comparison to the heavy long swords and cutlasses it appeared to be a toy. Renee expressed scepticism that the short sword, fine as it was, could stand up to the blunt force.

"It can!" Elizabeth claimed with dead certainty. "I will prove it!" She grabbed a summoning bell and shook it until Thomson appeared, to her irritation completely unrushed.

"I expect your Master keeps weapons at his disposal somewhere in this house," she said testily.

"Cold weaponry or firearms, Lady Turner?" Thompson asked with an outmost calm like she was inquiring about the pastries rather than deadly items.

"I would like you to bring a long sword to me."

"Regretfully, I cannot fulfill your request. The weapons are not to be touched by anyone without Master Norrington's permission."

"Surely, he wouldn't object to landing it to me?" Elizabeth stepped closed to the butler in agitation, rarely denied in her requests.

Thompson didn't even lift an eyebrow at her protest. "I'm sorry. I cannot answer this question on his behalf. I have my orders."

Elizabeth dismissed him, realising that she was losing dignity the governor's daughter must maintain by arguing with a servant. "There is too little fun to have around here," she said moodily. "Come, we must go out. I know a wonderful hat shop."

Renee shrunk involuntarily. She's declined any attempts to take her outside the house so far because she looked what she was, a disaster survivor. She reasoned that she won't be leaving Port Royal soon, and she wanted to create an impression that she was a normal human being. Elizabeth, however, was in no mood to take another no for an answer. "I'm willing to take on all expenses, as a welcoming gift," she said, attributing hesitation to a different problem. "I simply would like to keep your company longer."

"Thank you, it won't be necessary. I've been provided with the means to live," said Renee. Two days prior, Thompson knocked on her door, just when Katelyn came to check on her and share the local gossip. He brought a modest brown box, which he claimed he'd been instructed by Norrington to give to Renee. The Admiral insisted that she must accept it. Thompson retreated as soon as his mission was accomplished. Renee curiously pried open a complicated locking mechanism, more expecting a magical item inside than the most banal answer. The box was filled with more money than she had ever seen. She rushed to the door, intent to return it, but Katelyn disallowed it. The doctor pointed out in her usual no nonsense manner that it was more convenient for her to have the money than having to bother James every time she needed something. Renee was badgered into keeping the box, but she was resolved not to waste the money.

Seeing Elizabeth's expectant eyes, however, she submitted to the inevitable expenses. There was little sense in alienating James' friends. She yielded, feeling that Elizabeth was already irritated by the lost confrontation with the butler. She supposed Katelyn's sash was not the best permanent resolution to hide her chopped hair, whereas a hat would do the job more or less respectfully. "I would like to take a carriage directly to the shop and back," she said, hoping that her first visit to town will pass inconspicuously.

Her worries, for once, proved unfounded. Elizabeth was a pleasant company once she relaxed. Renee, initially restrained, eventually succumbed to the cheerful atmosphere as they tried on the new hats and Elizabeth laughed at some of the outlandish designs. It was a pleasure long forgotten to make light of the conversation while trying on the new things. Each hat morphed her into a different persona, bringing the most unexpected results.

The hat shop owner was a petite woman whom Renee privately nicknamed a hairpin. She was feminine like any woman and talkative like any shop owner. With her shop empty midday, she focused all her energy on her two customers, complimenting them lavishly. She wasn't abashed by Renee's looks, especially once the woman provided a simple 'accident with the stairs' explanation. She called Renee a poor dear and told a similar story that happened to a friend of a friend of hers. All together, it mattered little to her if her customers spotted horns as long as they paid well.

Renee was dragged to the mirror where she had to examine her image critically. When she dared to look, to her surprise, it wasn't as awful as she had imagined. She looked exotic rather than odd, dressed in a long robe that didn't entirely follow the English fashion in the absence of a corset, but the fabric was made of expensive cloth, hardly resembling lower class' dress code either. She found two hats to compliment the look.

One, Renee decided to wear as she purchased it. It was designed in the latest fashion with the narrow brim folded and pinned on the sides. Its greatest advantage lay in a veil that hid her face well. The other hat was characterised as the Italian straw, brought by a trader ship a week ago. Wide brim set with the large, peach flowers, spun a perfect shade from a hot Caribbean sun. The hat softened Renee's face, bringing out a new, gentler light in her eyes. She needed little urging to keep it.

Well pleased with their purchaces, Elizabeth and Renee stepped outside the shop several boxes richer, waiting for them to be loaded into the carriage. This is where Renee should have known that her luck wouldn't hold as a young, elegantly dressed woman approached the shop and greeted Elizabeth.

"Who do we have here?" she asked, nodding at Renee. "Do introduce your companion." Her voice was sweet and viscous like a pouring honey. She ran a hand with a perfectly sharp nails through her blond locks, letting Renee think that there were bees where there were sweets.

Elizabeth made the introduction reluctantly, trying to make an excuse to leave by gesturing towards the carriage, but the woman didn't allow it.

"Truly? Is this the woman I've heard so much about? I hear you live with Admiral Norrington," she said.

Renee confirmed it without giving away any details. The honey-coloured eyes examined her critically, narrowing suspiciously as they travelled up. "That is a lovely hat!" she exclaimed. Renee stepped backwards, but the woman with unexpected agility ripped it off her head. Her mouth rounded in a perfect O. Deliberately, as the wind gust went by, she threw the hat far away. "I'm sorry! How clumsy of me!" she exclaimed, but the dancing eyes told Renee that she will be the center of the vicious gossip this night. The gust of wind picked up the hat and carried it down the street.

Renee silently turned her back on the woman and ran to pick up her hat, unwilling to squander her gifts. Behind her she heard Elizabeth confronting the woman that it wasn't an accident to which she heard sickening sweet laugher.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. Renee stopped dead in her tracks. No. Why did it have to be him when she was already embarrassed? Insufferable lieutenant Gillette dutifully picked up her hat and looked up to find the owner. Renee briskly turned around and tried walking away like it wasn't her hat at all. Too late. She was recognised.

"Miss Ash," he called out to her. She walked faster, but her followed at a run and stopped right in front of her, stretching out the hat to her. "I believe this belongs to you."

"Not at all!" she dismissed, trying to get around him. "You're mistaken."

"Please do not hold a grudge," he persisted. "My behaviour was inexcusably rude towards you aboard the _Providence_. I've been speaking to you like you were a pirate. You have my sincerest apologies."

That's the second time she's been compared to the pirate. Angrily, Renee grabbed her hat and jammed it onto her head. "I do not have any influence over your commanding officer, and I have no intention of tattling on you, so there is no need to apologize because you will not have any retribution from him regardless of whether you're nice to me or not."

Gillette flushed. "This isn't why I've apologized." Seeing that she didn't believe him, he retreated. "Good day, Miss."

Renee walked back irritated. Lucky for her, the blond had ventured into the shop. Elizabeth was waiting for her alone. The conversation between them died down, neither able to patch it together with much occupying Renee's mind. This was the first day when she felt that she was adapting to her surroundings. However, she still couldn't identify her place in the new order. She was no one, she had no means of survival, so far relying on charity, which couldn't be expected to continue. Renee hoped that James had something in mind when he ventured to take her away from Tortuga. She had delayed too long. It was time to ask James what future he had planned for her.


	19. Chapter 19

I'm sorry for a small delay. There's been a problem with a virus more troublesome than an ill tempered Kraken denied a lollipop by Davy Jones that needed to be isolated and beat up. It's all good otherwise. Enjoy the next chapter. =)

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><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

The garden was quiet, waiting for the stars to emerge tentatively in the darkening sky. The sea breathed nearby. After a windy day, the nature calmed down, inviting all living creatures to do the same. James also succumbed to the peaceful evening. He chose the garden that faced towards the inner part of the island and away from the town to lounge in a chair declined back comfortably. His arm lay relaxed elegantly stretched along the armrest and his long fingers were motionless. A branch swayed beside him as a butterfly landed on it, folding together fluttering wings.

Renee took a seat beside him. Their elbows were nearly touching, but neither saw fit to establish an appropriate distance, reluctant to break the tranquil atmosphere by scraping a chair along the ground.

James remained perfectly still. He's been alert to her presence as soon as Renee stepped through the curtain behind him. "Miss Ash, I hope my request isn't too bold. Will you lift the veil please? I would like to be able to see your face." He made no note of the new clothing article only that it disturbed him.

Renee did. It seemed like a fair enough request compared to his more than casual, slightly ruffled state of dress. He wore a shirt opened wide at the collar with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his arms and chest. His skin was a shade darker than the material. Brown hair fell loosely around his temples. It was shorter than she remembered, but it seemed that he wasn't in the habit of cutting them down to the roots. A day grown stubble, just touching his cheek, suited him well. No doubt, he looked handsome each morning perfectly dressed and shaved, yet a few slight imperfections added charm, making him more approachable.

"Thank you." James made to further attempt to instigate a conversation, aware that she was troubled. He waited patiently until she gathered the courage to speak, which didn't take long.

The nervous, plaguing Renee an entire evening as she waited for a good moment to approach him, dissipated in his company. She remarked how she stood up to Elizabeth when he was sitting beside her and how badly she was humiliated by another young woman the same day.

"James, I must know, why have you brought me here?" she asked, shaking down a disturbing thought that perhaps miracles still existed and she was beginning to trust him. "I am not your mother, your sister or even a good friend. I am not someone you're obligated to take care of. Yet, I live in your home, enjoying privileges more than a guest should have like that box full of money."

The serious question brought him to tighten his fingers around the armrest. As he sat up straight, turning half way to face her, Renee felt an impulse to reach out and smooth the strands that were disturbed by the movement. One week was enough to learn that he rarely got any peace, and here she was, interrupting a precious moment. She was sorry that this conversation could no longer be postponed.

"I cannot define my motivation explicitly," he said. "I must have felt in your debt, having enjoyed as the same privileges in your home that you have here. You do not belong on Tortuga, this much is clear. You had to be taken away from it."

"Yes, but you must have known that it's possible to get off Tortuga, at worst as a stowaway," she said anxiously. "I could have left it. I chose not to because I have no means of surviving elsewhere. Now that you've brought me to Port Royal, I don't know what to expect. I'm not a pet you can keep feeding and sheltering. I cannot expect to live with you forever. I've been wondering every day when you will ask me to leave."

"Only a disreputable fool would ask you to leave. I have no intention of doing so." The words came out too abruptly unintentionally, and James dropped his voice apologetically. "I meant to say, your presence does not disturb me. You are welcome to stay as long as living in my home is in your best interest." In truth, her presence was enjoyable. With Renee's coming James found a reason to escape dull papers stacked in his office and come home, but he thought that it may seem too sentimental and thus false for her to hear. Appealing to her pragmatism was a surer way to gain her agreement. "I've considered a possible course of action prior to returning to Tortuga. I'm sorry that I didn't come before you've been injured. Otherwise, I've intended to discuss this plan with you. As I recall, you've spoken about your family. I would like to know, have you considered reconciling with them and do you believe reconciliation is possible?"

"I haven't," said Renee, "but, I suppose it isn't impossible." The main antagonism came from Adrian who was long gone. The last letter she received from her family dated two years before the fire at the tavern, so when he died it seemed like a dull continuation of her life among pirates. If she did return, looking more respectful than a vagrant with the Admiral to recommend her, and asked for forgiveness, perhaps her mother would be glad to see her again.

"I could attempt to locate your family should you be willing to try," said James.

"I'd be grateful. I already am. You've saved my life. However, you do have a lot of responsibilities. Won't the search interfere with your work?"

James shifted slightly, leaning an elbow onto the armrest and placing his fingers over the cheek to hide his face, uncomfortable with the praise. "It's nothing careful scheduling cannot overcome under regular circumstances. Unfortunately, the search must be postponed until we find the party responsible for sabotaging two ships in my absence."

"This sounds serious," she remarked.

"There is no reason to panic," he said firmly, downplaying the importance of the event. "The port security had been lax for the past year, which allowed thieves and bandits to get away with an awfully lot. Obviously, they've resorted to vandalism because they are answerable to the law anew. Once their resistance is broken, the port will only benefit. Nearly losing two ships, nonetheless, is an incident that calls for a thorough investigation."

"I trust that you will be careful regardless. There is too much trouble everywhere in the world. I've seen enough of it."

A reassuring touch along the top of her hand was faint, nearly accidental, leaving a tingling sensation as James withdrew his hand quickly. "I have no intention of giving up the port to the mercy of some ruffians," he told her calmly. "You have nothing to be afraid of, especially in my home. I will keep you safe."

Renee said nothing, overwhelmed that it was a promise she could believe in. The darkness snuck up on them gradually. James was a dim silhouette beside her as he rose to light the lantern. Disturbed by the movement, a butterfly took off the branch, circling around them. Maybe it was the sound of his voice that was so convincing. The smooth timbre was enveloping like the evening. A shiver ran through her as he spoke in the dim light where his voice gained an additional enchantment.

"I make no claim to your independence nor to a role as your confidant, nonetheless, I hope you will consider me to be reliable should anyone treat you less well than you deserve."

"I do believe you're reliable," she said. He was used to being trusted more often than not. She hoped that he wasn't insulted by her reluctance, but rather sought to reassure her. "I'm quiet because I'm fretting. What will happen to me if you don't find my family or if we cannot reconcile?"

"That's something we will solve once we get there, if it will happen at all," he reasoned. "I know that I can walk life only one step at a time. This was the right time to keep my promise, thus I've taken the step to bring you here. I believe life will show us what must be done next."

"I suppose you have a point," said Renee. She would have preferred a more definite answer when her life depended on the mercy of others. James could make plans for the future, but he couldn't predict it, and neither could she, even though her ring was a magical suspect. She just had to reconcile with what she had.

The flint struck the steel and the fire sprung up from the spark, gleaming mysteriously through the glass walls as James placed the candle inside the lantern. Renee felt the pang of a resonating spark; the moment imprinted into her memory forever. For the years to come, whether he was covered in mud or dressed for the ball, this is how she remembered him - standing in the flickering light that cast an amber halo around him, and the play of the shadows and light in his expressive eyes.

It had to be an illusion, nothing more than gratitude because he saved her life and attraction because he was handsome. In vain did she implore common sense to break up the charm, but the heart, living a reason of its own was soaring up and fluttering about heedlessly as the butterfly that danced around the lantern, gaining nothing but false hopes and burned wings. In a haze she heard James speak.

"I understand you're not used to seeing military as protection, but I would encourage you to seek help from the officers as well. There are many who have integrity and strongly defined sense of honour like Captain Peterson and Lieutenant Gi…Groves."

"You were going to say Lieutenant Gillette," she accused, holding onto the image of the troublesome man to summon a bit of indignation to keep her other feelings in check.

"I thought you wouldn't be inclined to follow my recommendation should I mention him."

"You're entitled to recommend whoever you trust the most. I have nothing to dispute with your Lieutenant Gillette," said Renee neutrally.

James saw right through her bluff. "I'm sorry his behaviour was unacceptable. His mouth sometimes runs ahead of his common sense. Nonetheless, he has all the right priorities, which include protecting civilians, and he defends these principles quite fiercely."

"I appreciate your concern," said Renee. Lack of common sense did little to recommend the man, but she didn't need to tell James that she intended to avoid the redhead. "It's kind of you to point out reliable men to me. Who else did you say they were? Lieutenant Groves?"

"I was reluctant to mention Groves because he is currently in the hospital. That being said, I trust him with my life, and he always keeps his wits about him no matter how dangerous the situation becomes."

His friend's well being troubled James. Renee nearly reached out to touch his hand the same way he did to reassure her. "I believe I know who you speak of. Katelyn told me that certain Theodore Groves was causing trouble in her ward, flirting with the female visitors much to the disliking of their brothers and fathers."

"You're quite right," James sighed in exasperation, but he appreciated a note of humour in her voice. "We must be speaking about the same person. That would be in his personality to do so, and just when I've given him such a fine recommendation."

"Don't worry; if Katelyn is the one healing him, he will soon be out of that hospital and helping you catch the saboteurs. Then, he will be too busy to do anything embarrassing."

"What an outstanding, positive thought."

Renee smiled. "Even I cannot always be doom and gloom. Something good is bound to happen sooner or later. You'll see."


	20. Chapter 20

The 'good bound to happen' materialized in the form of energetic, in the uplifted spirits and eager to be updated on every bit of news, Theodore Groves.

"It's good to be free from the hospital confines," he told James, adjusting his hat to shield his eyes from the assault of the bright sun as they rounded a turret. "The last couple of days were particularly lengthily with everyone else released. Locking me in the room alone, literally, was overly zealous on Katelyn's part."

His complaints didn't elicit the usual sympathy, and James' ruthful smile put him on guard.

"Are you confident her zeal hadn't been promoted on behalf of the hospital's visitors?" James asked.

Was there anything that could be kept a secret, Groves wondered, trying to ravel whether he was dealing with a friend or a commanding officer. "I'm confident there was too much zeal in the doctor's and the visitor's actions," he replied truthfully. He hadn't crossed any propriety bounds. However, this hardly qualified as an excuse. James strongly disapproved whenever anyone under his command got involved in fights or any other public disputes that damaged the Navy's image, especially when population was weary of the military presence. Groves knew he was the one who provoked lady's brother to over-react. Katelyn had to step in to prevent a fight from breaking out, thus she reserved vengeance rights on the troublesome patient.

"I believe you," said James, seemingly occupied with the more important matters, though he felt he couldn't dismiss the misbehaviour entirely. Groves understood the hint. It was fair enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. He always admitted when he was at fault. Not that James could dismiss just as easily guilt that he didn't visit the hospital again.

James was saved from brooding by a narrow gate that separated different fort levels and a marine who saluted the Admiral loudly enough to startle all pirates sailing Caribbean into thinking that he was standing right behind them.

"It's nice to know I'm invisible, although I'm the one who should be congratulated on getting out of the hospital," Groves complained, mostly poking fun of the exaggerated enthusiasm.

"My apologies, Lieutenant Commander, I didn't see you," the marine told him sombrely.

"Accepted," Groves waved it away, deciding that it wasn't worth playing a joke on a man who's been on guard duty since the early morning, though teaching him how to be more subtle wasn't a bad idea. Groves was a senior officer. There were punishments for failing to acknowledge the upper ranks. He didn't want to create a problem. "After all, nothing else is visible beyond the golden shine emanating from our Admiral." The pacyfying jest only served to raise tension.

"What was it you said? You aren't visible because I'm present?"

Groves raised his arms defensively at the fervent tone. "It's was merely a joke."

"Never mind that." James grasped onto an elusive thought that threatened to escape him. "Do you remember the name of the watchman who guarded the plank that led from the doc to the ship?" Meeting the lieutenant's blank stare James answered it himself. "It was Mr West, I believe."

"I have a feeling that you're referring to the sabotage investigation," said Groves. He hadn't been present when all watchmen were questioned.

"Yes. Find Mr West and Captain Peterson. Send them to my office immediately. I'll be waiting."

James was gone before Groves could ask for an explanation. To satisfy his curiosity he had to find both men fast.

James retreated into his office to organise his thoughts and plan how to bring out the truth. He told Groves nothing because he had to be sure before accosting a serious accusation. Agitated, James paced the office, unable to believe a gnawing suspicion. He glanced into the courtyard from the small window in anticipation and then checked that his pistol was loaded, placing it on his desk within easy reach hidden behind a pile of papers. It didn't take long before he heard a knock.

Lieutenant-Commander came in, shutting the door behind him before anyone could peek inside. "They're here," he announced.

"Thank you," James acknowledged the quickness of the completed task with a satisfied nod. "Bring in Captain Peterson first."

He sat down behind the desk, assuming a casual disposition and idly twisting a quill in his fingers. The troubled feelings were hidden as James raised his eyes calmly to the men who entered the room. Groves raised his eyebrow questionably, but James made a gesture that told him to wait outside.

He studied the man's honest face as the Captain stood at attention. Integrity wasn't a mask. James didn't think he was such a bad judge of character that he would have been fooled. "I would like to recall certain details of our conversation regarding sabotage, Captain," he said calmly, watching for the vaguest signs of alarm. "I believe we were in agreement that someone helped the saboteur to get aboard the _Silver_ that night."

"Such conversation took place," the Captain agreed. He spoke firmly, but unrushed and choosing his words carefully. "I regret to say, nothing changed. We haven't been able to find the responsible party."

"I believe you underestimate your knowledge," said James deceptively calmly. "Brief enlightenment about human behaviour today gave me confidence that you can identify the culprit."

"I don't understand why you would think so," Peterson confessed. The cryptic statement alarmed him.

"I know who that man is, but I want to hear your opinion first."

The Captain bore the statement with a quiet stubbornness. There was little else he could do. Like James, he wasn't a good liar. He asked the question expected from him. "I cannot say. Who do you claim helped the saboteur?"

"It was you."

The Captain didn't deny it. He squared slouched shoulders and then he met James' eyes levelly. "With all due respect, such accusation requires proof."

"And you will have it." James' voice belayed disappointment. "Please ask Mr West to join us." He wondered what forced Peterson to deny his statement. The Captain was a forward man who knew when he was beaten. James wanted to give him a chance, but he intended to break any resistance and present the proof with the help of the man who entered the room.

"At ease, Mr West, this isn't an interrogation," James told the marine who sensed the tension in the room and stood an awkward head taller than the Captain, feeling out of place in the small office. "We need your help to recall a few details the night you've been guarding HMS _Silver_."

The stalky man looked from the gloomy Captain to the composed Admiral and decided to trust the later, assured by the statement that he was important. "I will do my best."

James was satisfied to see West focus, genuinely trying to remember the details. "You need to picture that night. Start from the moment when Captain Peterson arrived."

"It happened before the ship's watch was changed. Several men disembarked and several came to replace them shortly."

"I imagine the faces would become a blur, although you know those men well," James remarked.

"That's true, I cannot name everyone. But, I am good with numbers. There were eighteen men who came and left."

"Does your count include Captain Peterson?"

"No."

"Then there were nineteen, unless the Captain was accompanied. Can you remember whether the Captain alone?"

"I think he was," said the watchman uncertainty. Norrington waited, giving him a chance to remember. "My mistake, he was accompanied by one of the marines."

"Can you remember who that man was?"

West shook his head. "I only remember a red uniform. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. I've been focused on the Captain in case he had orders for me. Is that a problem? I'm sorry for my oversight."

"It's not important. I've been testing your memory. There is nothing abnormal in the senior officer being accompanied," James dismissed. He didn't want the watchmen to pass onto others that he asked this question. "Then, you are sure there were twenty men in count?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Mr West, you've been most helpful," said James. "I have no further questions. You may go."

James caught sight of the Commander on the other side of the door as West stepped outside. He threw a quick glance, checking that his weapon was still within reach should the revelation cause a violent reaction. It wasn't necessary. The Captain sagged in resignation. He wiped sweat from his forehead intent on maintaining a stubborn silence.

"In a presence of an officer, common soldiers are generally paid little heed. I doubt any man can confirm that he accompanied you that night, so perhaps you will spare my time and confess."

The Captain paled, wordlessly and painfully.

"Should I take the liberty to describe what happed since you are unwilling? You've led a man disguised as a marine past the watchmen aboard the _Silver_. You've hidden him in your cabin where he wouldn't be discovered because it's left to your discretion to search. The saboteur changed from the easily visible in the dark uniform and waited for nightfall. There was a quiet splash when he threw the bundle into the water that was heard by the watchman. Are there any details you would like to add to complete the picture?"

James placed the quill on the desk with a controlled hand, maintaining the chilling calm. "In that case, I will call Commander Groves. You are under arrest under charges of treason. The trial will be held publically."

"No!" Peterson surged forward and grabbed onto the desk's edge, realising just in time that another step would get him killed. "I will serve any punishment, but I beg you, don't expose my family to harm!" Meeting a stony silence, he was forced to tell the truth. "It happened a week prior to the Governor Swann's arrival to take over control of Port Royal. A merchant named Diaz came to my office and demanded that I sign documents for his cargo. The list he presented contained illegal materials. I had him thrown in jail for the audacity and thought it was the end of it. The next day another man showed up with a similar demand and commanded me to release the arrested merchant. When I refused, he pointed outside the window. I saw a carriage. My wife and my daughter were sitting in it in the company of two bandits. Those bandits were willing to slide my family' throats on the spot unless I gave into their terms immediately. As wrong as I am, upholding the law sometimes has a price a man cannot pay. I cannot sacrifice my family."

"When those bandits came again to demand another favour, helping them to sabotage the ships, you've been already prepared by their threats to do their bidding."

"I'm afraid they will kill my wife and daughters should they get an idea that I've given them away due to my arrest."

"But it's all right should they kill someone else because you've helped them!" Anger finally got the better of him as James rose from his seat to glare down at the Captain. With difficulty he brought errant emotions under control. "You will return to your office and labour on a very long a detailed report about the men who threatened your family. Every word, every detail, I want to know. Then, you will resume your duty like this conversation never happened until we find them. You will notify me immediately should they appear again."

The Captain stood shocked. Norrington was not the type of man who would mock him. He truly was free, at least temporarily. With difficulty Peterson released the desk and straightened his back. "I understand. Thank you."

"No thanks are necessary. I am obligated to press charges once the threat it removed. You understand all possible consequences. You will be lucky if you only lose your rank. God help you should you abuse the freedom I'm giving you. You will be persecuted with shame to last your family at least two generations."

The conversation was over. Peterson bowed sombrely. "I will do all in my power to redeem my crimes." His hand touched the door handle, and then he looked back at James. "Please be careful, Admiral. They will use any means to win. I'm glad you don't have a family."

The door clicked shut, settling James with a rock of anxiety in his stomach. He had no family. But he had Renee.


	21. Chapter 21

"Do you think it was a mistake to leave Peterson free?"

It wasn't the fairest question. Considering that his decision had been executed, the inquiry may have looked like he sought to validate his actions rather than consolidation. Jame asked because Theodore's opinion mattered too much to let an unspoken disapproval linger between them.

"I'm sorry," Groves apologized, realising that his sullen contemplation was mistaken for a sign of disagreement when he sunk into a moody observation of the dry dust rising beneath their horses' hooves. Treason and news that the bandits were powerful enough to threaten the Captain who by far wasn't a coward into submission was a lot to take in. "I'm brooding over the same risks you did when you've made the decision. We don't know whether Peterson will aid us at the crucial moment or the fear of losing his family will be too strong. It doesn't mean that I think you're wrong."

"The law states I am wrong as I should have arrested him, at least the standard regulation does, and it's based on a good reason. What right do I have to potentially risk lives by protecting his family?"

"Saving them from guaranteed harm," Groves corrected. "You aren't known for bureaucratic tenacity to follow the law to the letter, but I trust your common sense to pass a fair judgement."

"I'm assailed by misgivings that this should be a compliment." The remark was too true for comfort. It reminded James about the cursed day when Jack Sparrow escaped execution. The lawful course of action would have been to shoot the rogue Captain during the escape attempt and hang Turner for helping. Yet, he didn't call an order to fire. He allowed Sparrow to draw him into a mindless conversation and did nothing to punish Turner. This misstep allowed Lord Beckett to administer an arrest warrant for him, not that it made a difference in his fate. Admittedly, Lord Beckett could have found a flaw to arrest a Saint if it suited his interests. James trusted the law, but sometimes he shuddered at its merciless efficiency. He shook off the alarming turn his thoughts were taking. He was no pirate to treat the law as the guidelines.

Groves watched him shrewdly, well aware of the doubts plaguing his friend. "It takes a great man to uphold the law without becoming a tyrant," he said, but seeing James shift in the saddle and unconsciously nudge his horse to go faster, he added, "and an even greater one to treat me to a tasty lunch. I hope Thompson still makes those excellent pastries."

"He does," James accepted the change of conversation gratefully. "But, I must confess to a hidden agenda aside from treating you to the delicacies. I would like to introduce you to a lady, and hope that your behaviour will reflect nothing but discretion when I do."

"I look forward to meeting her." Groves intended to say instead 'you wouldn't believe my promise' when he saw James grip the reigns tighter. There was tension about him that spoke volumes.

At the hospital, Groves was treated to gossip about a woman brought from Tortuga who was living with James. Few knew who she was, which didn't stop most unflattering rumours. Groves attributed them to the envy of the local women who flocked around the Admiral like piranhas, some daring to slip past the guards into the fort much to Gillette's charging because he was responsible to removing them without commotion. They didn't hesitate to patronise any lady James favoured with as much as a smile. When Groves asked Katelyn about her, the nurse treated him to a closed lip smile and said that Miss Ash was unlike any woman he had met.

The mysterious woman piqued his curiosity. Groves wondered what she meant to James. It seemed unlikely that James had been released entirely from Elizabeth's hold, leaving him to hope for the old saying 'the best cure for a broken heart is new love.' Come to think of it, James was acting strangely. The last time he had left work for lunch was to accept the Governor's tea invitation because Swann had arranged for his daughter to be there. Not only had James adapted an out of character habit, but the last time Groves checked, his watch trailed at least a quarter of an hour to midday. They've left their post too early. Could it be that Peterson's confession troubled his friend into thinking that this woman may get hurt by association? James was not the one to worry about remote threats. He dealt with problems as they arose. Even so, common sense couldn't always overcome the worry where the loved ones were concerned. He wanted to see this woman immediately and make sure she was unharmed.

James nudged his horse again to travel faster, confirming that he was in a hurry. Yet, aside from this subtle sign, James hardly behaved like a man about to see the lady of his heart. He showed neither nervousness nor joy. Could it be that his friend wasn't aware of those developing feelings? That was unacceptable, but welcome nonetheless. After observing James in the wake of their adventure and escape from the Beckett's reign, Groves was starting to think that he should travel to a siren bay to fish for a seductive date, otherwise, James was in danger on becoming a sea monk. Groves hardly blamed his friend for avoiding women. Their ambitions revolved around self-benefit and abuse of his kindness and good will. The world, imperfect as it was, couldn't be filled only with ingrates. Theodore Groves trusted his intuition. It was telling him that this woman cancelled the trip, not that it would create an obstacle to having a bit of fun meddling. His lips curved slightly in anticipation.

"I fear to inquire, you are giving me a look non other than disturbing," James interrupted his thoughts. "I have a distinct memory of Weatherby Swann having the same facial expression when he once invited me to tea, a best-known manoeuvre called meddling."

Groves regarded James unabashed, gracefully accepting a reminder that he wasn't the only perceptive man around. James knew him well enough to figure out what was on his mind. "I'm trying to make the best of the scandal, which has gotten the corset laces in a twist of every lady in Port Royal. An unmarried man at the perfect age and breeding is living at an isolate mansion with a young woman who is highly unlikely to be his relative. One may wonder about the nature of their relationship. Don't tell me this has never occurred to you."

"This has occurred to me often enough to ensure my impeccable behaviour. I would never with a word or jest embarrass Miss Ash. I fear she feels indebted. It would be a disgrace for her to think that her stay depended on satisfying my romantic interest in her."

"Your foolproof plan has a few shortcomings called feelings. What would you do if, for instance, I was to take interest in her?"

James flushed. "I'd be against it, but don't get the wrong idea that I'd be jealous. You're mistaken about the nature of our relationship. I feel responsible for Renee. She's been through too much to have her feelings handled inconsiderably. I'd wish you luck had you serious intentions to court and marry her, a commitment you are not ready for. Thus, dearly as I'd miss you, I'd bury you in a special place reserved for Jack Sparrow should she be no more than another conquest."

"You're speaking in riddles." Any attempt at lightening up the conversation led to increasingly stress filled words. He had to get to the bottom of it. Groves pulled the reigns abruptly, bringing his horse to a stop. "You've admitted that you want to ask for my help, but in order to help I need to know what's going on."

For an instant, James regarded him competitively, reacting to a challenge. Groves met his gaze without flinching, until common sense told James that he was in the wrong. "I will do my best to satisfy your inquiry, but it's not my place to divulge her past."

"Thank you."

James didn't give away a lot, mostly focusing on his experience that cost a lion share of pride to reveal, but he clung onto dignity without flinching from his mistakes. Renee Ash, in the laconic narrative, appeared to be a tragic heroine deceived and separated from her family who went through hardship no lady should have been subjected to. Groves had hoped for a glowing terms that would tell tale about an attraction, but James was reserved, pointing out only that she was intelligent. The remark could have been accepted as a crowning jewel of a compliment since most noble women used their heads primarily as a decorative function for wearing hats and feathers. Most impotantly, Groves quickly caught on the point of sharing the past.

"Locating her parents may be harder than you're anticipating," he said. "You may not be able to leave Port Royal in the nearest future; however, someone in a less demanding position could carry a message on behalf of Miss Ash."

"Indeed."

"And his name happens to begin with a T and end with an E."

"I believe your proves with letters deserves an A."

"What do I get out of it?"

"The pastries."

"I've been hoping for the Captain's rank for such a dangerous mission, but I suppose for the sake of a fair lady the pastries will do."

James smirked and lightly nudged the stallion with his heels, covering short distance to his home within minutes.

The fair lady turned out to be much different than Groves expected. He felt disappointed by a slim woman in a loose robe and a wide brimmed hat that shadowed her face. The word mysterious had him imagine a tall, graceful beauty with the long hair falling around her like an Arabian shawl and impossibly dark blue eyes framed with the long eyelashes. Miss Ash had brown eyes that were impossibly unfriendly as the woman approached them and lifted her head to study him.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Ash." Groves bowed sombrely, catching a suspicious glance from James. He supposed he deserved it, behaving in no manner to be charming to this woman. He doubted any charm wouldn't wither and die before reaching her. "I've heard much about you."

"Likewise."

She made no attempt to uplift the conversation, and Groves caught a vague smile from his friend. Was he being laughed at by, James Norrington of all people, because at long last a miracle woman appeared who did not fancy the ever likable lieutenant-commander? She regarded him no longer than propriety dictated and then addressed James.

"I've had the pleasure to become acquainted with your secretary today."

"Do you mean to say Mr Hurst came to visit instead of seeking me out in my office?" Tenacious as the man was at hounding him with stacks that required more ink waste, he never went as far as disturbing him at home.

"He had been most aggrieved by the accumulated paperwork. It is my understanding he used to approach you at lunch, which became impossible because you can no longer be found at the fort at that hour."

"I'm sorry for not attending to my work sooner. Mr Hurst is a good man, but he can become short tempered and does not accept compromises when it comes to bureaucracy."

"He didn't offend me in spite of the less than courteous greeting. Sometimes people who do not meet our expectations at a first glance turn out to be more than tolerable."

Was she hinting at their earlier conversation? Groves felt distinctly uncomfortable. He had entertained unflattering thoughts about her before finding out her character. He had been so critical because he wanted the best for James. Groves nearly kicked himself. It was much to expect her to greet him kindly after his facial expression had given away his disappointment.

"I believe after speaking with me he managed to solve part of the problem," she continued smoothly before her remark caused controversy.

Groves couldn't help being impressed. "You have my admiration Miss. At last, Mr Hurst found someone who patiently listened to his woes outlined on a long list in alphabetical order," he commented dryly as they went up the steps into the house. He noted that James offered Renee his arm to lean on naturally enough for him to imagine that they went up the steps every day together. However, James kept an infuriatingly respectable distance from the escorted woman.

"Your name came up in our conversation, Mr Groves. It is my understanding that half of the paperwork could have been spread to the senior officers. The secretary was hesitant to make such decision without the Admiral's agreement, but he felt decisive when I assured him that I will pass his idea to James. I imagine, Mr Hurst will be waiting for you once you return to the fort."

"Your gracious warning shall not be forgotten." Checking the restoration progress of HMS _Silver_ was increasingly welcoming.

Groves ignored stark disaproval rolling off the Admiral and deftly stole James' seat on the opposite end of the table as the later helped Renee into her seat, and pretended to study table cloth patterns innocently. James treated him with a spiky look, as a host refraining from shooing the intruder off his rightful place. He sat down beside Renee, banished to the farthest end of the small table to give her as much space as possible without making it conspicuous that he was inching away from her. Perfect, Theodore decided quite optimistically, shyness was a perfect indication of the attraction. The trick was to let James see it. He did not suspect that his innocent enough meddling played key role in the change of James Norrington's heart.


	22. Chapter 22

"We're walking."

Elizabeth hopped down from the craning mess that used to be their carriage, tapping her heel on the ground impatiently. She was followed by Renee, nimbly if not as energetically. They didn't need to wait for the coachman's long sighs and puffing before he'd announce that it would take a few hours to fix the wheel. "And we do not require an escort, thank you," she cut off any offer before it came.

Matter closed, she followed the road away from their abandoned carriage, confident that Renee will have no trouble keeping up. Better health prompted the trip when after lengthily pressing and prodding Katelyn removed the bandages from her ribs and pronounced at least one inch of her patient healthy. Elizabeth insisted on buying a normal dress, claiming that Renee couldn't wear the nun robes all her life, whereas her superiority in organising a shopping trip was acknowledged. Regardless of her love for adventure, Lady Turner was very much the sophisticated Governor's daughter with a smart taste that allowed her to overshadow most women in Port Royal. Renee, however, doubted her sense of direction.

"Doesn't the main road lead that way?" she prompted, giving a wide, open road a longing glance, compared to the suspicious debris they were heading towards. Her ankle throbbed slightly, but it was a marginal annoyance she could ignore.

"That road is convenient for the horses. There is a shorter path to the town center. I have no intention of walking in this heat longer than necessary with this dress and another suffocating corset on. I assure you, fainting is a dangerous pastime."

Renee doubted it was more dangerous than the proposed route. A path was too generous of a term to apply to the glum twisted passage sunken into shadows and suffocated by buildings. Renee was sure the inhabitants were prone to the habit of pouring slops out the windows onto anyone rude enough to disturb them. It seemed like an ideal place for a robbery. Renee followed her companion reluctantly, out of habit reaching out to wrap a shawl around her shoulders before realising that it was lost on Tortuga. She felt more vulnerable without it, walking half a step behind Elizabeth and alert to the slightest danger.

In contrast, Elizabeth shared none of Renee's fears. She strolled down the street as confidently as she walked down the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_. A wedding ring shone on her finger as testament of her courage.

"My father presented this ring to me when we came back to Port Royal," said Elizabeth, noticing close scrutiny. "William gave it to my father for the safekeeping before the wedding. My husband has never gotten a chance to present it to me in person, courtesy of the East Trading Company."

A trace of venom ran in her words overshadowed by sadness. She was willing to fight for her happiness, but who was she to fight with no enemy in sight and what could she do to bring her husband back into her arms on land.

"The Company could never take away your love," said Renee. "I'm sorry that's a poor consolation. Your husband was meant to become the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. We cannot always choose to defy fate."

"I cannot accept that." Elizabeth lifted her chin stubbornly. "I've considered taking a ship and sinking it out at sea. I could choose to join the crew to be with my husband once the Dutchman came to pick me up."

"I'm glad your common sense prevailed. Surely, you've considered that you may die before the Dutchman arrives."

"My common sense is in no need of guidance or criticism. I came back only out of consideration for my father. I cannot abandon him."

"Are you truly willing to risk death for a slim chance to reunite with the man you love?"

"To love means to be willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of it, even your life."

"Maybe so," Renee answered through a lump in her throat. It was a familiar sentiment born from a powerful feeling, which she had done well to forget. Four years ago she had sacrificed her family for love. For nothing. A regrettable choice. Elizabeth's words, spoken with an unshakable confidence, threw Renee into doubt that the sentiment in itself was so terrible, only her choice to trust a wrong man was. Damn Adrian. It was his fault she had lost the most important feeling that made her human. She was stricken, feeling like was blinded by a torch finally lit in the long lasting darkness, only to witness the surrounding decay as her vision returned. When she met a good man, she couldn't even show him that she cared. She wasn't even worthy. James was so high above her. Only the moments that brought him to his lowest connected him to her. Her heart was hammering in her chest. So, that was it. She was doomed to be alone, but at least her heart was trapped by an honourable man.

"You've gone awfully quiet," Elizabeth said, growing disturbed by the silence. "Are you tired? We are nearly there."

"I'm fine." Renee forced the gloomy feeling away. "I'm glad nothing jumped out of these civilized jungle to devour us."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in disdain for anything threatening. The 'predators' were safer attacking easier prey then two seemingly unprotected women. Nearby, Renee heard the noise of a busy street. They were almost safe. Almost. Just when she thought no trouble will appear, two men stepped out of the side door, intentionally blocking their path. Studying their haggard appearance, Renee felt an unpleasant, sinking feeling in her stomach she wasn't proud of. She fought an impulse to run back through the alley, which would have been a mistake. The safety lay behind the bandits' backs.

"Hello dolly faces," one of them mocked as the pair advanced on their victims. "What is it that two girls like you are doing at a nice place like this?"

"The less you know the better you'll sleep," Elizabeth parried. "In your case, you must sleep very deeply."

"Looking for trouble are you?" The man's bearded face split into an ugly grimace. He pulled a rusted sabre off his hip and swung it without much skill, but with a lot of violence.

"No. We most certainly do not!" Renee interfered, willing her knees to stop trembling. "Neither do you. Why don't we solve everything peacefully, without trouble and unnecessary screaming?"

The bandit scratched the back of his head. Usually, the victims preferred doing it the hard way, not that he objected to trying it differently. He didn't fancy being chased by the military, if there were any in the area, after separating hard working citizens from their earnings.

"You must pay a tax for passing through this part of the town," he announced.

"Here." Renee took the purse off her belt and offered it to the bandit. It was certainly better to part with the money than with her life, a prudent sentiment her companion didn't share. As the bandit reached for the offering, Elizabeth pulled out her sword. Renee shrieked as the cold steel clashed less than a hair width from her face. She darted around the second bandit who lunged to assist his startled partner and ran without looking back towards the shining gap that led to the crowded street. Fright carried her onto the middle of the street in front of an open carriage. The horses reared, pulled up before she was trampled.

"Help!" she screamed. "Please help! The bandits are attacking Lady Turner. They're down that alley!"

Her urgent plea was answered. Two men in uniforms jumped out of the carriage and rushed in the pointed direction. Renee took several shallow breaths as the dizziness passed. The coachman climbed down as well to sooth the horses that snorted and pawned the ground irritably. Renee moved out of the way, careful to cause no more disturbances. She eyed the alley, wondering whether the help came before Elizabeth suffered an injury. The street noise blocked any sound of the nearby fight. Staying close to the wall, Renee peeked into the dim light.

The fight resolved faster than she expected. The bandits, having enough trouble with merely one lady, chose to run as soon as two armed men appeared. One of them was hit hard on the back of the head and arrested, while the other fled, belatedly pursued by an officer. He collided with Renee as he ran out of the alley.

Renee fell. Worn out, angry face glared down at her with such hate that she felt sick. There was something familiar in the intense gaze thrown beneath the frowning brow. The man was gone, blending into the crowd, before she could take a better look. _No._ She must have made a mistake. He was too old. His eyes were too hollow and the wrinkles on his forehead too pronounced.

"Are you all right, Miss?" An officer came to her rescue and helped her up. Renee leaned on him, feeling ill on her feet. "It must have been terrifying to be assaulted. Please do be careful in the future and stay on the crowded streets where the military is available to help you!" he babbled, settling her into the carriage before passing the instructions to the accompanying redcoat to lead the prisoner to the nearest watch, which the soldier did, jabbing the bandit non too delicately with his bayonet.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. However, it would have been best to apprehend both men," Elizabeth passed the judgement severely, settling on the seat beside Renee. She would have done a better job had she been left alone to deal with the bandits. A few shouts came discouraging them from blocking the way and the coachman guided the carriage to the initial destination, receiving no alternate instructions from the officer who was occupied with comforting the ladies .

Much to Renee's dismay, their saviour was no other than much apologetic Phillip Gillette. "Your assistance is appreciated regardless," she said to make up for Elizabeth's scolding. "I'm sure that robber will be arrested soon because you remember what he looks like." She made an attempt to be civil, having learned that Gillette was Norrington's friend. Unlike Groves, he never came to visit, which must have been her fault. She felt that she wronged James.

The lieutenant in truth wasn't so bad. He gladly accepted the peace offering. "I'm sure the Admiral will be glad to see you safe. Mr Mullroy and I were on our way to meet him."

"James is in town?" Elizabeth asked with quick interest. She viewed the encounter favourably.

Renee didn't think James would be happy to learn about their new misadventure to begin with. She wanted to see him no less than Elizabeth, but Elizabeth viewed the encounter as entertaining, whereas Renee fared no better than an uptight bundle of nerves as the carriage came to a halt.

They weren't late. Gillette informed them that he never wasted Norrington's time, always arriving well in advance. In a cascade of words he told them enough to make any secret mission a popular contest. Norrington was surprised to see women instead of Mullroy accompanying Gillette who answered all questions in a short, breathless narrative before the Admiral had a chance to ask.

James looked over Renee first, relieved when he found no noticeable bruises. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I hope your injuries haven't been aggravated."

It was such a gentle feeling, looking into his eyes just for a fleeting instance when he had forgotten about the others, concerned about her well being.

"I am well, thank you, and in favourable spirits like any man or woman who after being scared senseless finds the world to be a lovely place."

He smiled at her. The smile was warm. It held a hypnotising ability to touch something deep in her heart that fluttered like a wounded bird and heal it.

"How true, the world is a lovely place when someone cares about you," said Elizabeth. "I've been attacked as well. What a pity my well being is to be overlooked."

"I very much care for your well being, Mrs Turner. I also have an outmost admiration for your proves with the sword. You are without a doubt the best swordswoman I've ever had the pleasure to meet. I cannot say Miss Ash has such means of defence. I fear she wouldn't fare nearly as well in a fight."

Elizabeth pouted, although the compliment was flattering. "I would like to believe I deserve a bit of consideration regardless of my skill with a sword."

"You do. I'm sorry for my oversight."

Elizabeth stepped towards him and pointed at her cheek. "I believe I may be inclined to forgive you with a little kiss to make up."

"We are taking too much of the Admiral's valuable time with our complaints," Renee interfered, stepping in between them. Irritation surged through her at Elizabeth who always had to be the center of attention. She barely refrained from laying a hand on Elizabeth's elbow to motion her away from Norrington. "The Admiral must attend to his work and we should be heading towards the tailor. I'm sure he's disappointed that we're late for our appointment."

"We shall not detain you. It's important to keep appointments," James agreed quickly.

"Indeed!" Gillette perked up. "I would like to offer the carriage for your use to get to your destination quickly. I'm sorry I cannot escort you!"

"Thank you, lieutenant. You are too kind," Renee accepted.

Elizabeth pouted. The moment to ask for a kiss was lost. She sulkily forced a polite goodbye as the carriage moved, leaving two men behind. Renee pointedly ignored her, staring at the buildings and shops rolling past them.

"I can feel your disapproval," Elizabeth stated coldly. "I wish to know what warrants such disrespectful attitude."

Renee balled her fists, hiding them in the folds of her dress. She knew when someone was picking a fight. She too felt angry. "Do you not think it's heartless to flirt with a man who had suffered because you've rejected him?" she snapped.

"I think it is neither selfish nor heatless to wish to remain friends with a good man, although, regretfully, I could not return his feelings. I suppose, a jealous woman not attractive or cheerful enough to do the same would suspect a foul. You wish you could do the same."

"I wouldn't be behaving the same, flirting with an attractive man while my husband was away. I wonder what Mr Turner would think about your kissing."

"My husband has every confidence in me. He has no reason to question my faithfulness. I think he wouldn't be thrilled that I keep acquaintance with a woman who regards me so disreputably."

The carriage arrived at the destination, but neither woman had the slightest interest in the coloured pieces of fabric when their place near James was questioned.

"Rest assured, I will spare your husband a worrisome cause," said Renee. "I have not the slightest intention to befriend a woman who thinks she's the only one who deserves all the consideration in the world."

Elizabeth spared her an angry glare.

"Fine."


	23. Chapter 23

The earth and the sky were the same, grey and damp, gradually sinking into the evening. Persistent droplets, slithering past the cloak folds chilled her neck and shoulders. Renee shook them off in one smooth motion as she gained admittance past the heavy hospital double doors. She came to see Katelyn on an impulse, prompted by another vision. She didn't feel comfortable discussing it with James who would be sceptical about an existence on a magic ring even if it spoke to him, whereas she haven't seen Elizabeth in a week following their argument.

Already familiar with the layout, Renee followed the route to the left wing. Her shoes squeaked on the wooden floorboards. In the distance she heard muffled voices that grew clearer as she approached the head nurse's room.

"Truly, Mrs Hart, you are welcome to visit any time, pertaining to cheerier occasions than health concerns. You are a most pleasant company and an admirable woman."

The pair stepped out of the room in front of Renee who sunk into courtesy, recognising the Governor who greeted his daughter's friend amiably. Ever perceptive of Elizabeth's affairs, but reluctant to question her, he ceased the opportunity to ask Renee whether everything was well.

"Don't worry, my daughter is strong willed and can be quite temperamental, much like her mother, but she is quick to come to her senses," he told Renee in parting, interpreting her vague answer correctly.

She thanked him, throwing a discrete glance between him and Katelyn. Their earlier conversation seemed intimate.

"You did not come here to eavesdrop, I assume," Katelyn told her as the Governor bid them good day.

"I wasn't," said Renee, feeling once more reluctant to blurt out her secret. "Can I stay here and help you? I'm not squeamish."

"I believe you will not be a great hindrance," Katelyn allowed. "I was about to see Mr Smith. He had burned his hand on a freshly forged blade."

"An appropriate name for a blacksmith."

"He paid and arm and a leg to have it changed from Dungworth. Frankly, I do not care for his name, only for his skill. After Mr Turner had left, any blacksmith was welcome. Old Brown was too drunk to sharpen a knife to cut butter."

Bantering so, they went down to the room where Mr Smith waited for his appointment. He turned out to be a stout man with a short, curly beard like a dwarf who wasn't keen on following the instructions about keeping his hand inactive. A long, rough gash across his palm was menacing. Katelyn did most of the work redressing the wound and threatening to amputate the patient's arm should he be hammering within three days.

"I didn't think you'd be useful, but you weren't afraid to look at that burn," she told Renee as they were folding the bandages into tight rolls after the blacksmith had left. "I assumed you came here for company."

"In a way," Renee confessed. "There is an odd topic that won't leave me alone. I wonder what you would do if you had a vision."

"Keep my mouth shut unless I wanted to be accused of witchcraft. The Inquisition is never too far away."

Renee couldn't agree more with the prudent thought. It was her plan until she saw the Port Royal streets invaded by an armed party and a richly dressed man holding a gun to British officer's temple in a bargain a horse for a life that he never intended to keep. James would never forgive himself for giving into demands that couldn't save his friend and allow his enemy to get away. "Those visions, they are never about mutton pies," she ventured after a long pause. "They tend to be about life changing decisions. Silence may lead to disaster."

"Then, I better be sure I have an unshakable faith in whoever I'd choose to divulge my secret to."

"Faith may not be as big a problem. Imagine someone coming to James and telling him they have a magic ring that foretold a disaster. His sarcasm may kill the fortune-teller before the Inquisition gets them."

She imagined him scoff, 'Truly, Miss Ash, I thought you were too sensible a woman to believe in magical drivel.'

"He'll ask for tangible evidence," said Katelyn. "James is a traditional man who supports the world as it is. Anything out of the ordinary he deems irksome. When I first met him, he didn't believe woman's place was to crouch under the cannon balls amputating arms and legs and sewing internals back into the stomach until I pried a bullet from his shoulder. Then, he took every word back and protected me from anyone who thought that my place was on land planting daffodils. If this hypothetical someone can prove to him that the ring is useful, he will work it into his understanding of the world and keep it safe, otherwise he will ridicule it."

"That's very much like him," said Renee. She was startled when Katelyn took half wrapped bandage from her hands and finished it in a few swift wrist turns.

"My work is done for today," she informed Renee. "I'm going home. I'd invite you to supper, but it's already dark. I don't think James will appreciate you wondering alone at this late hour."

Stepping outside, both women pulled their cloaks tighter around their bodies. The weather outdid itself in misery, shrouding the streets in fog. They walked swiftly in silence, least they wanted a mouthful of rain, to the spot where the street branched. Renee threw a glance over her shoulder at the nurse's silhouette that quickly dissolved in the evening, wishing she could have stayed for that cup of tea and stayed overnight.

This wasn't Tortuga, still, she remembered those two men. The one who escaped glared at her with specific hate like he saw something in her that reminded him of a bad life. It was a similar feeling surging through her, she felt that she knew him, but he inspired dread. Would he come looking for her to pay back for whatever happened? Renee nearly jumped at the startling noise behind her. It was wet and dull like a stone hitting the road. Cold arm wrapped around her waist and a hand came to cover her mouth as she turned to investigate the sound. She was spun off the street into the wall around a building that mostly covered them from view.

"Don't you dare shriek once I remove my hand," a man hissed into her ear.

Renee nodded. With her back she felt every crack in the structure, trapped between an old wall and pressed to the abductor's body. He uncovered her mouth and used the freed hand to lower his hood. Hollow eyes, dark pupils surrounded by yellow irises of a man who drank his health into oblivion, held outmost contempt. His nose was hawkish, standing out sharply on too thin face. The teeth were rotten as the cracked lips unlocked in sadistic grin.

"Don't recognise me, do you, Renee. But, I recognise you, not that I ever wanted to. I rather hoped someone would have shot you by now."

His breath was laced with rum and the voice was low and broken, but she recognised it and the manners of a man who thought he was above everything even when his value was lower than dirt. "I thought you were dead," she managed. Her voice was small and frightened.

Adrian picked up on it. He always sensed fear. "You wish." He coughed breathlessly, sputtering brown spit that hit her cheek. "I left you. That fire was merely convenient. I realised that your daddy valued money more than his daughter. And he's right. Who'd want you?"

"You don't look so good either," Renee hissed. There was nothing left of a handsome man who dazzled her and inspired her sister's jealousy. Four years of low life ran at the cost of one year for ten. "It looks like the God is merciful. You've never trapped another victim."

He issued a curse. She never talked back to him before. His fingers locked around her neck. It had to be a nightmare. Mercer's ghost coming to haunt her was preferable. "So, you think you can lift your head and utter puny, disrespectful words to me, your husband and your master, because you're playing Admiral's whore? Have you forgotten that a knife to the ribs makes no discrimination?"

He released her sharply, remembering why he wasted three days stalking her. "You've ruined my life," he said bitterly. He believed it. "You're worthless. You couldn't convince your father to give you the money. Because of that I was stuck on Tortuga instead of claiming wealth and status I deserve. I should kill you just for that. But, I suppose I could let it be the past should you do me a small favour."

"What is it?" said Renee. Adrian was predictable. There was nothing he could have asked for other than money. It was better to pay than to have him cause problems. Most of all, she didn't want James to find out that she wasn't a window like they used to believe.

Adrian pressed a small vial into her hand. A raindrop hit its black, unforgivable surface without a single shimmer. "On my behalf, pass a present to your dear Admiral or rather slip it into his drink."

"That's poison." Adrian was manipulative and greedy, but he would never attack anyone more powerful than him. Someone must have paid him to pass the vial to her. "Surely, Adrian, you didn't get so jealous over me as to want to kill him."

He snorted derisively, refusing to reveal anything. "Wrong words. You should be a clever coward you always were and agree quickly. Otherwise, someone will peel your skin off while you're still alive and cut it into strips. Then, your guts will be gouged out and wrapped around your neck until you suffocate. I've seen the procedure. It's very painful. But, we're getting ahead of ourselves." He squeezed her neck once again, broken nails sinking into the material. "Agree now." There was no doubt he'd do as was planned. Poisoning was too important a secret to let anyone who knew about it live.

"Fine," Renee choked.

"Three days. That's all you have."

He intended to add another insult when they were interrupted by an approaching carriage. Horseshoes beat dully against the road and the horses were snorting in disdain for the weather. A dim lantern swayed back and forth, marking its progress. Adrian pushed Renee out into the street in front of it and fled into darkness.

The horses neighed in alarm. "Who's there?" the coachman shouted.

"My apologies, sir," Renee cried out. "It was not my intent to startle you."

"Miss Ash!" The carriage door flew open and she was drawn into its heart enveloped by warmth and light. "I thought you were an unlucky robber interrupting my ride and was quite prepared to shoot him."

She couldn't suppress a sigh of relief at the sight of a man who came once more to separate her from the worldly misery. "You are too trusting, Mr Norrington. Perhaps, I have joined the forces of darkness since our last meeting."

"I'm confident our peaceful hospital is a cover for a secret pirate organisation led by a fearsome buccaneer Nurse Hart that practices turning men into living skeletons in their time off."

Renee chuckled. Smoothing the dress, her fingertips brushed the vile she had stuffed into the folds and her heart plummeted down beyond the floor into dirt where it was crushed underneath the carriage wheels. Just for a moment she was so happy to see him she had forgotten the horrible task she's been charged with.

In the small carriage space she was impossibly close to James that lulled her into feeling safe. Renee clutched the vial tight, nearly bringing it up in her palm to show him. Memories turned her hand heavy as stone. She hadn't forgotten the torture, being buried alive in that tomb underneath Tortuga. Whoever bought Adrian could do that to her again.

"I'm sorry for jesting when you're trembling," said James.

"I've seen worse weather. Surely, you don't think I'm afraid of fog."

He leaned closer, assessing the truth, close enough to feel his breath on her cheek. His pupils were dilated in the dim light. "That's no reason to get wet and sit shivering in your soaked cloak when I insist you use mine," he muttered.

It must have been her imagination and the closeness that twisted his words into flirting illusion. "I was glad to have it a moment ago, but it would be a shame to disregard your advice," she told him. The clasp was slippery and her fingers weren't cooperating.

His fingers brushed her neck as he reached to cease the fumbling. The cloak slid off her shoulders and dropped into a heap on the floor. She followed his hand movements as James removed his cloak and enveloped her in its folds.

"I insist, you should visit your friends in the mornings unless you have an escort. You shouldn't have been out at night."

James hadn't been passing by accidentally. He was coming to retrieve her from the hospital when he came home and realised she wasn't there. He worried about her.

"I wanted to discuss something important with Katelyn." Renee shook her head slightly as he gave her an inquisitive look. He wasn't going to quit until he pried it from her. "It's about a dream," she carved out an acceptable version of truth. Asking him to believe in the ring was too much. "I know not many place faith in dreams, yet it felt so real and so important, I had to talk to someone."

He listened without a hint of irony and a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth grew more pronounced. "Regardless of whether it's true or not, I believe it wouldn't be safe to tell anyone else about it," he told her.

"I don't intend to. I trust very few to say anything at all."

He leaned back against the seat, vaguely pleased that she trusted him. She hadn't expected him to accept her 'dream,' but he regarded it seriously. She let him think about it long enough to imprint their conversation in his memory.

"You were coming to the hospital to find me," she said before he came up with tough questions. "I'm touched by your consideration."

"I do think about you frequently." He glanced down at her hands, no longer confident. She sensed that he may have turned away had they been standing. "I've been granted a short respite from duty, three days from today, which charges me with liberty to seek desirable company." A certain scheming Lieutenant-Commander had arranged it. James swallowed nervously before continuing, "An honest answer to determining such a desirable company prompts me to ask, would you consider coming with me for a walk by the sea?"

Her lips felt frozen, but Renee forced a smile, hating herself more when he answered with a heartfelt smile of his own.

"I would."

She had never felt guilty before telling lies. She lied willingly to save her life. This lie tasted differently. It was bitter like ashes.


	24. Chapter 24

_Miss Ash…Renee…Dear Lady _

James scratched out the words, questioning how informal he should be, expressing his feelings in a letter of a reasonable proposition.

_Before I speak my mind, please be assured that the proposition I cannot withhold will not affect your welcome or change my respectful feelings for you._

_Your presence, increasingly dear, has come to remind me about a fulfilling duty as well as joy everyone seeks through the course of their lives – finding a suitable partner. This having yet to achieve, I would like to propose exploring the possibility together. _

_I understand that your experience has left you, rightfully so, with little trust in men who should have been the ones to protect you. I wish for a chance to restore your good faith in such union, should you allow._

_Sincerely, J.N. _

This was not the most eloquent romantic statement, efficient as it seemed at getting the point across. James pressed the quill down onto the table surface unkindly, punishing the object for its inability to help him articulate his feelings. He should have asked for a few love letter writing lessons from Davy Jones instead of a vow to forget about revenge. More use would have come of it.

To be fair, James suspected Renee wouldn't trust gentler formulation of his sentiments. He and she were the same, neither trusting pure feelings. Emotions had to be analysed and understood first, which didn't make them any less intense.

This is why he had to protect his heart. One scar carved into his chest was enough. Tomorrow, he'd observe Renee for an attraction signs to decide whether he should present the letter to her. Should nothing come of their walk, he'd have no expectations to regret. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, letting hope get the better of him like it happened with Elizabeth.

Yet, his mind shrunk from the thought that Renee wouldn't accept this offer, not for the pride's sake. He didn't want to return home one day, after she'd reunite with her family, and realise that it's empty once more. He couldn't ignore the part of his life she had claimed gradually. His attraction never formed like a lightening strike. It enveloped his soul subtly, remaining unnoticed until Theodore spoke of it. James still doubted its intensity.

He didn't feel a burning desire. He was simply at ease whenever Renee was near and restless when she was missing, always searching for her when she wasn't where he expected her to be. Protecting her came without a second thought. She accepted his support gratefully, but never hinting that she desired it, frequently pushing away with her manners the help she could have received had she appealed to sympathy. It took him a while to understand, during the late night shifts on the _Endeavour_, that she was doing what he had done on Tortuga - saving a shred of dignity. They preferred to be thought unkind or arrogant than pitiful because they had pride. This too Renee understood. She didn't feel tearfully sorry for him nor did she condemn his fall, she accepted life for what it was that instance - their plight.

That didn't mean she had to shoulder everything alone. This is why he never told her about the danger Peterson's confession revealed. He should have been honest with her, especially after an incident with the bandits. Yet, he couldn't ruin her peace. She began to smile after living in fear for so long. James wanted to preserve the serenity a while longer before troubles amounted once more.

He hoped she would smile today. The last couple of days she'd been withdrawn, possibly nervous about their date. James checked the clock that confirmed it was time for supper. The letter went neatly arranged into a folder. He hid it in the drawer that was always kept locked.

Renee was uncharacteristically late. Before the tea grew warm, James learned that she wasn't in her room nor have the servants see her go out. Passing by his room, James noticed that the door was open a fraction wider than he had left it. He entered cautiously, a quick glance determining that no one but him was inside. His eyes travelled to the weapons instinctively, settling at once on an empty holster. One of the pistols was missing.

He had to search systematically before falling victim to false conclusions and fears. Renee could have gone to put behind her argument with Elizabeth and took his weapons for some imaginary training imposed on her by the Governor's daughter. He never approved. Women weren't meant to gallivant about like pirates, waving about the hatchets. No sound reason, however, influenced a punishing pace he set for his horse on the way to the mansion.

He waited impatiently as a servant, always walking at a leisurely pace in the Governor's household, attended the duty of opening the door and notifying the visitor that Mrs Turner was in her study. There was no sense of urgency in the man.

"Thank you." James stepped around him, heading for the stairs.

The servant, unnerved by the breach of protocol followed him. Only uneducated hooligans practiced breaking inside the mansion without further invitation. "Sir, you cannot go there! I need to announce you first!" He bristled under a withering glare shot by James.

"Perhaps you will have me wait half an hour at the door like a commoner?" James dropped his voice low in warning. Whenever he did so, his target always had an impeding sense of doom that there will be unpleasant consequences for arguing. "Are you telling an official in charge of this island's as well as the Caribbean waters security that he must wait for the etiquette to be addressed in an emergency?"

"What emergency would that be?"

Elizabeth came down to investigate the noise. She looked beautiful in a cream dress, gliding down the stairs. She stopped a mere half step away, regarding him with a welcoming interest. Her warm eyes that usually wrecked chaos in his heart, urging it to beat faster, today elicited minor annoyance.

"I have hoped to find Miss Ash in your company, but as your servant assured me that you are alone, I wanted to ask whether you might have ideas concerning her whereabouts."

Elizabeth nearly took offense, tempted to ask why she must know where to find someone she hadn't spoken to in a week, as well as displeased that he'd visit on behalf of another woman. However, the gravity and unmistakable concerned read in his every gesture prompted her better judgement. "I do not know," she stated, unable to hide a hard edge to her voice regardless. "Is anything wrong that you should ask?"

"Nothing that would justify rushed conclusions. I apologize for abruptness. I should seek out Mrs Hart then."

"You'd be wasting your time travelling to her home. Mrs Hart is here, visiting my father." Elizabeth took his arm, willing him to satisfy her inquiry. "Please tell me what's wrong. I can help."

James freed his arm gently, fighting an urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "All I know is that Miss Ash disappeared today with my weapon and no one had seen her. As she is not with Mrs Hart either, I must draw undesirable conclusion that Miss Ash is in danger." He intended to add wearily his preference that Elizabeth should refrain from an active involvement, but she never heeded his good advice. "I believe organising a search party is the proper course of action." James wished he felt as calm as he appeared, but he felt danger looming about them once more.

* * *

><p>Renee kept to the shadows, sneaking around the dock sections that were stripped in moonlight. An unfamiliar weight of the weapon concealed in her cloak folds was agitating. It pressed into her palm clumsily with a promise of blood, not life. She had taken the pistol on an impulse; however, the cold object didn't instil a sense of safety like its owner did. Renee felt vague pangs of remorse for the theft. Still, it was better than forcing another responsibility onto James to keep her alive when so many problems already burdened him. He couldn't dedicate all his time to guarding her. If she wanted to live, she had to save herself.<p>

Prompted by such thought, she snuck out of his home after dark, intending to leave the island. The farther away she went the better. A simple plan turned out difficult to fulfill aside from her complete lack of navigational knowledge. This wasn't Tortuga where boats were dumped unattended. The shoreline was guarded. Down the beach, Renee spotted a barn where fishermen gathered their belongings. A boat could have been left there.

At a closer inspection she discovered that 'a barn' was too luxurious term to apply to a dilapidated shack with a plate size lock holding together front double doors. Renee went around the structure, finding a place where two boards have been broken off. She squeezed through the gap, disturbing a large spider web spun in between the wood. Grey threads that looked menacing ripped apart as she freed herself from its hold.

Renee advanced cautiously, preserving her shins from the sharp edges of limp stools and junk abandoned on the knee level. The shack was filled with old things that were too difficult to repair, but sturdy enough to feel sorry to throw away. One of them was an upturned boat. Renee rapped her knuckles, testing decrepit bottom.

"If you expect that to float, your common sense is in worse shape than this rotten excuse for a washtub."

Instinctively, Renee stepped around the boat with her back to the wall, putting it as a shield between her and the speaker. Adrian regarded her grimly. His face and figure were crisscrossed by the nets hanging down from the ceiling. There were elusive changes in his usually sloppy posture that squared him for an irrevocable action.

"It must be so," she acknowledged, deciding that she might as well curse him if there was nothing he wanted to barter for her life, "considering that I once found something attractive about you."

When she was running away, Renee expected an assassin like Mercer to come after her, but those were the shadows of her fears. She wasn't important enough to be silenced by the likes of him. It fell to Adrian to do a murder where no skill was necessary, just a lack of conscience. She should have known that he'd spy on James' house and follow her once she left it.

"This new behaviour doesn't suit you. It must be this sort of talk that made you unsuitable to appeal for the Admiral's protection, so you were forced to run away, whereas there is nothing else you can offer to him in exchange that has any appeal."

"Or maybe you just have a bad taste," Renee hissed. Adrian always knew exactly what would hurt her the most. Overwhelming, long suppressed indignation welled up in her chest. "Before you appeared no one had ever called me ugly."

"It must be the time being so unkind to us. Aren't all children lovely?"

The sadist wanted to satisfy his ego and make her cry before killing her. It took her too long to shake down his lies. She used to be a well raised young lady from a good family. No one sung praises to her beauty, but ugliness had been created by her husband. After he disappeared, she used it for protection until it became her identity.

"And it's time you've left me alone," she implored. Adrian regarded her with boredom, completely indifferent to the charge that he had destroyed her life. Why did he always appear like a plague whenever her life was taking a happier turn? Her grip on the pistol handle was so tight she could feel the pulse drumming against the wood through her fingertips. "I will not help you again. Ever. You will not get anything from me."

A knife he drew from the sheath slithered out with a mournful hiss. "Pity.'' Adrian brushed aside the nets. Renee stood rooted to the spot as he approached, stopping across the boat from her. He expected no resistance. His eyes idly travelled to her throat. It was a shame that he had to do it to save his skin. Otherwise, he could have squished a payment out of her several times in exchange for keeping quiet that he was her estranged husband. "I was looking forward to the reward money for the Admiral's death. You've disappointed me once more." He jumped over the boat in one smooth motion.

Her scream merged with a shot. The sound bounced off the walls like a blinded bat and slipped through the cracks out towards the beach. Searing pain Adrian had never felt before ripped through his stomach. The knife clattered on the ground out of his reach. Agony and hate rushed him, one overtaking another like waves. Adrian ignored the resounding bang of the tools falling around him that could have split his skull and lunged to grab the hem of her dress as Renee crashed into a table dodging him. His last shred of energy was aimed to destroy her. Adrian clutched the material convulsively, bit by bit winning the tug of war until Renee fell on her knees.

"Curse you forever!" she cried as his bloody hand inched to her throat. Pale face and wide eyes, unforgiving rather than fearful, was the last image imprinted in his mind before a heavy blow spilt the back of his skull and his sinful spirit parted the earth.

"Bloody bandits! I hope you'll be forced to wear a corset in Hell!"

Elizabeth dropped an oar she broke in half over the man's head and grabbed Renee hand, pulling the lithe woman from the prone body. She cringed at the less than attractive death scene, nonetheless taking a moment to look down and recognise the body. "Is this not the same man who attacked us?" she asked.

"He is," Renee confirmed. She was tempted to check that Adrian was never coming back, although she had seen her share of death to be sure that these wounds were enough to finish a man. Killing his kind was difficult. They always survived like cockroaches. Adrian was a bloody heap on the floor with his arm stretched towards her. Visible half of his face was frozen with a slimy grin full of contempt. Expressionless eyes no longer burned with a yellowish light, clouded by the grey-blue mist. Renee turned away from the unsavoury sight.

"Thank you," she said into an awkward silence as both women weaved their way through the chaos to get outside.

Elizabeth slightly inclined her head, putting their feud behind without either of them having to make an apology. Both had questions, but their curiosity was dulled by the stress, and they stumbled through the sand towards the line of homes in moody contemplation.

"One wouldn't except to find Governor's daughter in an old shack at night," Renee ventured first.

"You would, had you known that she is looking for a friend of a friend," said Elizabeth. When she was young, she once planned to go on an adventure, and the only reasonable thing came to mind was getting off the island that could be searched within a couple of days unless one wanted a taste of jungle, which is why she went to look by the sea first, thus getting to the shack. "As is the entire Navy had James organised that search party he mentioned. You have caused a stir, Renee. I believe you owe us an explanation."

Renee swallowed hard, having never considered that her disappearance would turn into public inconvenience. "James is looking for me?"

"You needn't doubt he would. I'm taking you to the search center - namely my home. That's where he should be."

"Wait…Please…" Renee stalled, but Elizabeth's frown urged her to keep following. She succumbed to the guilty contemplation, vaguely aware of Elizabeth brushing aside the lieutenant who belatedly found them. Unavoidably, she had to tell James the truth. Her dread was increasing the closer they came to the lamp lit mansion. She heard James' voice as they were welcomed to come inside. She was looking down at the floor, but she knew the instance he saw her because he ceased speaking midsentence.

Renee shrunk into a miserly, guilty ball of nerves, far too exposed in the middle of a lit hall. She was a sad sight, covering in the dust and blood covered cloak. Her hair, grown long enough to reach cheekbones, was mixed with the silvery threads of the spider web. It was James who approached her. She regarded his shoes until the silence grew unbearable. Reluctantly, she raised her head unaware of a tears welling up in her eyes. "I've shot a man," she confessed. "He wanted me to poison you, but I'd never, I wouldn't do it, thus he tried to kill me."

The silence fizzled with tension measured by the monotonous clock ticking. Like in a dream, James reached out slowly and wrapped his arms around her. She expected a reproach, a hint of disapproval but not...

"I'm sorry."

Why did he have to be so honourable? She couldn't help but desire to reach for the same standard. Resting her forehead on his chest Renee told him everything. He never interrupted once, his hold encouraging her to expose her soul to judgement. And then, he came up with a plan how to save her, how to save everyone.

"Perhaps," he said gently, "it is time I've died."


	25. Chapter 25

The following day, at seven o'clock in the morning, Katelyn Hart had been urgently summoned to the Admiral's mansion by his guest Renee Ash; an event witnessed by many. The call had been made concerning an alarming state of his health. The nurse, generally praised by the public and greatly respected by military, had done her best to determine the cause of the rapidly worsening illness; however, the fever had progressed to a shortage of breathing, which three hours later had resulted in a painful death.

Lieutenant Phillip Gillette, the last to speak with the Admiral prior to his passing, described the awful scene in tragic terms with the tears in his eyes. Shocking news filled the town at first with disbelief and then gloom. Ugly rumours that a man at the peak of his physical and mental strength could not have passed away so suddenly, weaved underlying paths in the conversations. The people whispered that the Admiral had been poisoned. Morale fell low. Some citizens went to his home to show appreciation and grief for the popular leader, others began to pack their belongings in fear of the dangers surely to follow the death of their protector. The town was covered in a blanket of depression.

The enemy didn't delay. It was on the third day of the ill fated news that the lookouts detected two war vessels heading towards Port Royal. The militaristic formation and refusal to respond to the signal from the fort indicated hostile intent. The port lay vulnerable. Captain Peterson, who temporarily stepped in to take over the Admiral's duties, had received a distress message. Seeking to eliminate nearby pirate activity, he took three ships away. Remaining HMS _Silver _went out to face the danger; however, two formidably armed ships met her with a daunting firepower, forcing her to retreat under the protection of the fort walls.

The intruders sailed in an arc towards part of the town that lay outside the fort's protective ring, dropped anchor close to the shore and lowered the boats. A party of eighty men landed under command of a richly dressed man. Tall and with piercing black eyes he maintained unwavering control over his subordinates. He arranged the men into a strict defensive formation and marched towards the fort, staying close enough to the shoreline to keep his ships in sight, but at the edge of the town with the risk to civilians, thus ensuring he wouldn't be fired upon in the open.

The Port greeted intruders with a dead silence who marched on without a soul in sight. One might have thought the town was deserted. It didn't alarm the leader. He didn't expect resistance, believing the defenders would take an advantageous position closer to their stronghold. His calculations proved wrong. Half way to the destination, his progress was obstructed by a barricade protected by a dozen men, judging by a number of rifles visible beyond the barrows. Garcia ordered his men to a halt. A flimsy obstacle gained his disdainful regard. His men could overrun it in one charge, significantly outnumbering the defenders.

A British officer appeared on top of the barricade. The Spaniard raised his hand in a silent command to hold fire, albeit tempted to take the risk as he found the emerged figure to be highly irritating. The man struck quite a pose with one leg on top of an elevation, lifting his chin higher than was comfortable to regard men below.

"Good afternoon, Gentlemen," he yelled, tucking his hands into a belt that looped his waist and raising a millet eyebrow. "Lieutenant Phillip Gillette. At your service. Taking your tense composure into consideration and a few rumours spread by the kakadus, you're suffering a certain distress. I've taken the liberty to deduct that you're lost. As a senior officer, I feel responsible to step in and notify all newcomers that any armed groups marching through Port Royal streets, aside from the troops assigned by His Majesty, must be taken to jail. Should you kindly choose to retreat down this street and take a right turn, you will ultimately get there."

The defenders laughed, well hidden by the barricade, appreciating the flaunts and flops of that peacock. The Spaniard regarded him with an expression full of contempt in spite of having to look up. "You are mistaken about my advancement plan, Lieutenant. Not prudent when you are dealing with an enemy." His manners indicated a well educated nobleman who spoke a foreign language smoothly, having first learned the basics from a tutor and advanced it through experience. Relatively young, he fought many battles and rarely lost. Many English sailors went through imprisonment on his ships. "I am Contraalmirante Fernando Diaz de Garcia-Iglesias, Rear Admiral in your words. I hope my accommodating English is smooth because your intelligence is not high, but I strive to be understood."

That had momentarily wiped a self-satisfied smirk off Gillette's face before it was reinstated full force. "I feel obligated to repay your kind advice," he stated, flailing his arm outward to encompass intruders, "as to own no favours, Contraalmirante, though I cannot offer a cup of tea along with it. It isn't wise to underestimate your enemy."

"Thank you. I will bear that in mind whenever I'll meet an enemy I'll be in danger of underestimating," said Garcia with an unyielding confidence, barely hiding his irritation. It was insulting to argue with a man he considered to be far below him.

"I'm delighted to be of service." Gillette forced a smile, determined to hold ground in a squabble that was doing no favours to their mutually growing dislike. "In case this exchange of wisdom is all you have sailed half way across the Caribbean for, I would like encourage you to accept my kind invitation to the jail. Otherwise, please state the reason for your intrusion."

"You insult me by offering to serve as a mediator when the fate of this port is to be decided." The frivolous tone was gone, replaced by a calculated mockery, meant to add a nail to the coffin. "How strange, for an important location I expected the British to send a qualified man such as an Admiral, but I do not see one coming forth to speak with me. Your rank is not high enough to conduct negotiations on this level, Lieutenant, unless the British Crown shows negligence by sending you, thus demonstrating it has less value for this port than for a handful of seaweed."

Mocking his leader's death should have been enough to eliminate the smug expression from the lieutenant's face. This knowledge allowed Garcia to be confident that he will get the better of the British in this exchange. However, when the lieutenant at last fumbled for words a new voice rose to support him.

"Your informants need to demonstrate greater diligence, Contraalmirante Fernando Diaz de Garcia-Iglesias. But, it seems you do not have a great selection of loyal and competent traitors who can behave less conspicuously than a whale in a fishbowl."

The Spaniard's face turned dark. Every syllable of his name was pronounced with a clear, slightly dragged out intonation that simmered with irony by a man who stepped up beside the ever irritating lieutenant. Garcia was no fool, having studied and seen the man he intended to destroy – Norrington who appeared before him. Either the informant had been caught and gave them away or the Admiral was lying that they caught him, but then his informant had been fooled into thinking that their murder succeeded. Either way, that man deserved to be punished for supplying him with the false information. Garcia didn't care whether the British would arrest his informant or he'll have to shoot him. Rear Admiral chose to attack the Port based on an expectation of the weak leadership.

"I never expect the traitors to be loyal," Garcia scowled. He added as much ire as he could into the name of the man who dared mock him, "Admiral James Norrington."

"Whereas, I expect you will have no further objections to these negotiations," Norrington replied coldly. "I believe my Lieutenant's question has a far greater merit than your crusade."

"Colonel Rogers seems to keep you well informed about my plan, but I will be kind enough as to explain it myself in case he is once more mistaken," Garcia revealed his informant. "I have a fair proposition for you, Admiral. Surrender the fort. I will allow you, without bloodshed, to take your soldiers, get on your ship, and sail back to England to be demoted below a doormat."

"I dislike sleeping on the floor."

Garcia clutched his weapons, barely refraining from shooting the men on the barricade, hesitating only in choosing the one he wanted to kill first. These Englishmen were an insolent lot. Keeping them alive after they surrender would be a mistake. Fair was fair. Supposedly dead man should be dead.

"We are no longer joking. I may not have the power to take over the fort, but my ships will level the town with the ground. There is nothing you can do to stop me."

"I'm disinclined to agree. The only thing more humorous than your proposition is your belief that it will succeed. I hope you have an alternate plan of action to convince me."

"I won't have to," Garcia promised. "The English have proven that they are incapable of protecting the port. How long will your citizens suffer the power that taxes them regularly that's incapable of protecting their homes? More so, under East Trading Company how many of them have been hung, how many robbed and tortured, how many families have been separated, husbands from their wives and mothers from their children. One does not forget easily. Even their hero cannot make them forget, and once they discover that you are just as worthless as the rest, the British influence will come to an end. Choose. Surrender the power to me or be responsible for many deaths and destruction. After this failure, the citizens will overthrow your tyrannical control."

"So it seems that your plan is entirely based on one threat," said Norrington with an unmistakable duality of amusement and surprise. "Could it be that you are speaking about the ships I intend to claim from you in the name of His Majesty?"

Behind his back, Garcia sensed his men stir in disquiet and heard whispering that grew louder. He shouted at them to be quiet as he turned in the direction of the distressed glances where lay the sea. The three ships that should have been following a false pirate trail were closing in on the two Spanish vessels that stalled momentarily before their Captain chose to accept the battle. HMS _Silver_ abandoned cover to join the attack.

"You are surrounded."

It was too late to return to his ships. Soldiers, all dressed in red, poured onto the street behind them. More and more were appearing from their hiding places ready to catch the enemy in the crossfire. He'd been betrayed twice. Captain Peterson informed Groves about his ploy. The ships merely pretended to leave, instead setting up an ambush. Garcia recalled a peculiar signal sent from the fort. It had not been a greeting sent to him.

"Surrounded by toys," he spat through the clenched teeth. The fight involved sides nearly equal in power. Only HMS _Providence_ was a match for each of the two Spanish ships.

"I can wait for the outcome of this battle," Norrington issued calmly. "These aren't the only ships at my disposal."

"You're lying! You have no reinforcements."

His flare of tempter was matched by an ear shattering blast. In place of the _Santa Rosa_, that tacked to cut off the _Silver _from completing the attacking formation, a column of flame and smoke was swirling up from the sea into the sky.

"Silence!" Garcia snapped at his men, forced to repeat the order. The steel discipline instilled in his crew helped him maintain control. Pride fought common sense for the safety of his men no less fiercely than the raging naval battle.

"Perhaps you should apply to the Holy Inquisition to scourge your soul, Admiral. You are a magician, arising from the dead, summoning ships and making your fort fire from an impossible range."

"You may blame your loss on magic should it take your guilt away, but it was a structural change in the defences that extended the cannon's range," said Norrington.

Garcia ignored him glumly, suspecting he'd fall into another trap by answering. He directed his attention to sea where the _Galicia_ was fighting. She was magnificent, anticipating all moves to surround her and her guns blazed to keep the smaller ships away, but she was doomed to never break the net she'd been captured in. His heart surged with pride and regret.

"They will fight to the death," he said calmly.

"What about you?" Norrington asked him.

"As will I. But, I will do you a great disfavour and surrender, on your word that no unnecessary harm will come to my soldiers and me."

"You may have my word. I believe negotiations with your country could be arranged for your release."

"I hope to speak with you about the man you must contact as soon as possible since neither of us wants to keep each other company longer than necessary," said Garcia.

The Spanish placed their weapons on the ground at his command in grim contrast to the victorious cheers he witnessed after so many battles. He had to call the surrender for their sake, but Garcia was far from beaten. Under a calm façade lay a fiery desire that accompanied him his entire life, to make the impossible possible. Bitter defeat grew closer with each step Lieutenant Gillette took towards him to cast him in irons.

"You are not an exception, Contraalmirante. Surrender your weapons," Gillette ordered.

Garcia parted with his sword reluctantly, but not with his pistol when a thunderous explosion shook the shore. HMS _Adventure_ sustained a powerful blast from the _Galicia's _port. The lieutenant's focus momentarily lapsed. He glanced at the sinking ship that collapsed like a card house and went underneath the waves rapidly.

Garcia moved with a quickness of a large predator. He threw one arm over Gillette's throat and pulled out his remaining weapon.

The pistol barrel never reached his hostage's temple. A shot fired from the barricade was lost in the roar of the cannons. Only a puff of smoke and Norrington's raised arm explained a red dot in the middle of Garcia's forehead that expanded like a bleeding star. Garcia collapsed on his back. His dark eyes remained wide open like he could see his soul disappearing in marred by the smoke, dark blue sky.

"You may step aside and let his men say their prayers for him, Lieutenant," said Norrington. "It's all over now."


	26. Chapter 26

Hi everyone,

Nope, I have not been abducted by pirates (so there's no need for ransom). I'm kidnapped by college work however, which I try to get around and write a bit daily anyway. I promise to have Jack Sparrow in the next chapter to make up for the delay of this one! XD

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26<strong>

Renee stood on the balcony in the fading light, lost in deep contemplation. Not even a delicate gust of wind swirled by to tug her locks gently and blow away lingering melancholy. James imagined it would whisper into observer's ear a sheltered wish to be the wind that can take this kind of liberty. He understood the emotions swirling about her due to the resounding sadness crowding his heart in the wake of the victory that at present seemed hollow. He stepped up to Renee's side, clasping his hands behind his back tight rather than placing them on the railing as she did and directed his gaze along her line of sight to the sea that merged gradually into one with the night.

"That's where they are at peace, James."

He shot her a sharp look, wondering when he missed that moment when his name came off her lips so naturally.

"The _Adventure's_ crew," she insisted, "you're thinking about them."

"Them and their families," he admitted. A true understanding of victory had yet to emerge, sunk beneath the responsibility of dealing with the captured Spaniards and subdued by the reality that so many fine men laid their lives to ensure better future. He thought he handled that duty with an unshakable calm. Apparently, he couldn't hide gloomy thoughts from those who knew him.

"You've done all an honourable man would have done," said Renee. "Captain Peterson will be remembered as a hero by his friends and family due to your effort. Everything else will be left in shadow."

"It's not like Groves to blabber out important secrets," said James demurely. It would have been a betrayal of Captain's trust to share his confession with anyone else.

"Theodore hadn't blabbered. I believe he told me about Peterson intentionally in hopes that I'll be the one to speak to you," said Renee. "You doubt the selflessness of your decision because you question whether it's been made for your own peace of mind. Peterson has been forgiven for his error in judgement. Could you, after making a regrettable mistake, be forgiven as well? By concealing his betrayal and crediting his following actions, you've allowed yourself the redemption along with him."

He should have been crossed to be confronted so with the doubts he refused to discuss. Instead, James felt a gentle stir of pride as she met his gaze steadily, daring him to contradict her deduction. He was a bit responsible for relighting her confidence, after all. Admittedly, ever conniving lieutenant-commander had a point by sending her as the ambassador. "You are ever perceptive," he said, assured that it served him right for choosing good friends.

"And you are ever willing to shoulder all responsibility in the world," she returned the compliment. "Someone ought to chastise you for doing so."

"Are you volunteering for the task?"

"Not at all, I like you the way you are."

Just like that, she urged a hand squeezing his heart to release its painful hold. It shouldn't have been difficult to smile and tell her that he appreciated her too, exactly as she was. Yet, he didn't utter a word.

"Can I make you a cup of coffee?" she asked, turning away from the dimming horizon.

James nodded if only to keep her company longer. The sleeve of her dress brushed his hand, light as a butterfly wing. He offered his arm for her to hold on to out of habit even though she no longer needed it to walk. Yet, each one enjoyed the gesture in secret. It brought them closer, close enough for him to imagine that she could sense his emotions through a brief touch. She picked up on the disquiet that she hadn't fully dispelled.

"When I was little, I wondered why is it that people are left to suffer while they are surrounded by others," she told him seeming distant as she recalled the event, but she did so for him. "Once, when I went to the market with my mother I saw a man trip over a crate and fall. He was crouching down on the ground in pain; meanwhile people ignored his distress, moving around him like a stream around a stone. I've grown to believe it was normal. And then you appeared. Amidst it all, you are the person who stops to help, just as you stopped to help me. Whatever happened to you in the past led you to me. You may regret it, but it saved my life and perhaps my soul. Selfish as it is. How can I possibly be sorry?"

"Never be." He spun her around to face him and looked down into her eyes that were dark and brooding like a swirling surface of a freshly brewed coffee. Black pupils were dilated wide. He leaned closer to catch an unfathomable play of emotions in their depths. "I will never regret meeting you."

Her fingers tightened around his arm in a silent plea to preserve the sizzling tension between them that parted him from reason and rendered incapable of pulling away. He didn't think he would ever witness a woman looking at him this way, especially not her, but the truth spun down undeniably as he leaned in and kissed her.

Unexpectedly as their passion arose, she wasn't surprised, having read the same need in his eyes a moment earlier and met him with greater warmth than James imagined her capable of. The kiss flowed into series of tiny agreements of her hand travelling up his back and a butterfly kisses he trailed along her throat. They were cautious, in no great hurry outlining the boundaries how far they allowed the impulse to carry them, breaking apart sensibly when emotions threatened to overwhelm them.

"Does this mean you still want to go for that walk?" she inquired half-jokingly about their lost date, albeit 'death' wasn't the worst excuse for a cancellation.

"Tomorrow, without a doubt," James promised. "As soon as we attend a short but guaranteed to be interesting ceremony."

"I'm mystified," Renee drawled out indifferently, least James decided to postpone revealing his plans.

"It concerns our mutual friend, Captain Groves," James hinted.

Truly, those were the best news she heard in a month. They didn't laugh, but the amusement and satisfaction that they were sharing a secret knowledge of a joyful event to come was evident in every gesture.

"Shall I assume he has yet to find out that he is a Captain?" Renee inquired awfully sweetly.

"Very much so," James, in contrast, responded with a grave mockery. "I would like to have witnesses present when he does put a finish touch to earning it."

"That does not sound kind, but very much entertaining."

"He shall have what he deserves after all those jokes about the naval chain of command. The _Hero_ needs a Captain. After Groves demonstrated a captivating innovation in battle, using the ship's capabilities, and a most intriguing capturing strategy, I believe they are union in the making."

"That's one way of putting it," said Renee.

When the Spanish ships no longer posed a threat, Groves moved the _Hero_ under his command into the shallower waters where the crews of the defeated party floundered in the water and used large nets to collect the plentiful catch. His crew hauled the sailors up the masts where the nets hung around until the prisoners were ready to be delivered to the brig. Such innovation earned Groves profound curses from the Spanish and admiration of his fellow officers.

"I hope he will demonstrate the same resourceful on his first mission as a Captain," said James.

"Will it be dangerous?" There was a troubled note in his voice she picked up on without knowing that James was worried about her reaction.

"Not necessarily, but I won't be entirely at ease until he comes back with reassuring news. With Port Royal secured, a ship can be spared to run an errand. I believe Theodore will be able to locate your family and pass a letter to them from you." He tightened his arms around Renee in silent encouragement, feeling her shrink into a small, wound up ball of nerves. "The letter needn't reflect your experiences as long as it bears a recognisable mark," he reassured. "Your family must identify that it has been written by you."

"They may not want to see me ever again," she said, trying to escape from an embrace, but he maintained a gentle hold. "The possibility occurred to me a year after my mother's last letter. When my family is lost in the distance of time, I have an illusion that I still have them. I do not want to shatter it."

"You are most unkindly underestimating our cunning Captain. I have every ounce of confidence he will charm his way into your mother's good graces, convincing her that a reunion with a long lost daughter is the best gift a God could bestow, followed shortly by your father's capitulation as he will have no choice but to agree or face the ramifications of his beloved's displeasure."

"Your confidence is enough to surpass the impossible."

"It's because I cannot imagine how anyone can be unhappy with a possibility to have you in their life."

The tension did not ebb away, but Renee kept firm control over desire to hide from pain. It would have done her no good. She dismissed as foolish any impulse to weep and sniffle needlessly for that which could not be changed. It was another small thing to endure.

"Promise me that you will think about the letter," James urged gently.

"I have something better." Renee slid the thin band off her finger, for the first time entrusting the valued possession to another. "Take this ring to my family. If they have any love left for me, they'll return it."


	27. Chapter 27

The promotion ceremony was a noisy, boisterous and otherwise outstanding occasion with the crew and officers haphazardly gathered aboard HMS _Providence_ where encouraged fraternising and drinking elicited the heartiest congratulations to the newly made Captain even from the deepest sceptics and envy riddled colleagues. They slapped Groves on the back with cheery guffaws in anticipation of the main event to come.

"We hope you will rise up to the occasion, Mr Groves," James quipped when his friend was sufficiently prepared for the task. He pointed at the wobbling plank above which a Captain's hat dangled temptingly like a ripe fruit. The promoted officer's task was to walk the plank to the tip where he faced the cheery perspective of retrieving the hat. The desired object was obtainable only through jumping and nimbleness of a cat with a minimal guarantee for an ambitious go getter to land safely.

"Two shillings, the lad'll taste the water. The odds are no greater than one to five," an elderly bassoon, who had witnessed many ceremonies over his thirty five years of service, uttered with an all knowing look that attracted many sailors to bet against Theodore's chances.

"Three that he'll make it," Gillette came to his friend's defence.

"Unless Mr Kinsman throws a Bible at the back of his head and knocks him off the plank before the Captain reaches his target," Norrington added, closely observing an increasingly unchristian glare marring the ship vicar's face, originating the moment he happened to stand in close proximity to the Captain when Groves had been notified about an upcoming ceremony.

Groves uttered a few colourful phrases underneath his breath unbefitting an officer of the Royal Navy as he discovered that the plank was quite slippery by stepping onto it. Thusly, he added to the list of the offences overheard by the vicar who in spite of an old age had ears of a veteran fox. Kinsman fidgeted with the Bible, clearly dissatisfied with the one who defiled the deities so. In his mind, it was the Captain's responsibility to serve as a model of virtue for those following his command, though virtue certainly wasn't on Theodore's mind, especially the last night when he was flirting with Kinsman's niece. Before the vicar made up his mind, however, Groves jumped.

He grabbed the hat before a stray gust of wind blew it out of his grasp and landed at the very tip of the plank, fighting to keep his balance. It looked like the freshly made Captain was about to emerge victorious, when James with a precious smile that could have caused angels to sing in a choir nudged the plank with his foot, shifting the precarious balance in favour of gravity.

Gillette's indignant scoff was accompanied by a loud splash, followed by a ferocious argument whether Groves had accomplished the task. The bickering ended in a merry round of drinking; meanwhile, Mr Kinsman threw the Bible at Groves when the later emerged from the water with his soaked prize in hand.

The ceremony could not have passed better. The sailors and officers extended it from the ship into the heart of the town, rejuvenating a long missed cheer and good morale. Riding along a path that winded parallel to the beach, Renee heard their singing and music a good couple of miles away, although she no longer saw the town. She was alone. The Admiral had been detained after the ceremony's official conclusion to address a prisoner riot. She supposed that's how it was going to be, cancelled dates and interrupted privacy. They were ingrained in his job, which Renee didn't begrudge, as much as she wished to strengthen their still fragile romantic connection. She knew that James cared when he stayed beside her during the ceremony and his arm occasionally came to rest on her waist possessively. She may have spared little regard for the strangers' dislike of her, but she was glad that the crew reacted well to her presence, helped by Katelyn who didn't hesitate to glare down anyone who sent Renee a questionable look, not that many dared to pester her with one of those. It was nothing like her first experience on the ship. Unwittingly so, she became a part these people.

Her mount's disturbed snort alerted Renee to two voices on her right. As she touched the reigns and came to a halt, the shrubbery parted less than a step away, letting through Elizabeth in a company of a man dressed nothing like a peaceful civilian.

The man reacted in a flash of beads entangled in his black hair. He grabbed the reigns to prevent an escape, but before Renee could truly grow frightened, Elizabeth pushed him aside unceremoniously and greeted her.

"Dare I ask what you're doing in a company of these pirates?" said Renee as two more men, by the looks of them less trustworthy than the first one, joined the group, dragging a large chest through the sand with the help of an endless chain of complaints coming from them. The governor's daughter hardly looked a reputable young lady as well. She was dressed in brown tunic and leggings. A wide belt encompassed her hips, holding a sword sheath that she left visible and within easy reach.

"I'm leaving." Elizabeth lifted her chin stubbornly, anticipating an argument. "I cannot stay within the confines of this town when there is a chance to free my husband. I'll regret to the last day of my life should I not go on this quest."

"Is this what he told you?" Renee nodded at the pirate who was making a pest of himself in close proximity by taking a peek at her mount's nostrils.

"We've rescued Jack from the Locker," Elizabeth pointed out. "Other miracles are bound to be. No other man knows this better."

"What about your father?"

A first sting of hesitation coursed through her frame, but that reason wasn't enough to change Elizabeth's mind. "I've explained it all in a letter. I'd appreciate your assistance in helping him understand that when Jack told me…"

"I beg your pardon," the pirate suddenly interfered. He circled around them as they spoke with most disconcerting and immodest stares at Renee. "I must most urgently inquire as in ask, would this be x-Commodore's bony lass?"

"You're very informed about the Admiral's personal life for someone who's been far far away from Port Royal for over a year," Renee said wearily.

"Thought she'd be prettier," he muttered.

Before common sense told her that it's not wise to slap an armed and unstable in his mind pirate, her hand connected with his face soundly.

"Ow!" The pirate rubbed his much abused cheek, which didn't deter him from acting. In one fluent motion his arm snaked around her waist and Renee was pulled off the horse. Rough strands of hair felt scratchy on her cheek as he leaned in to mutter into her ear, "Renee. Is it?"

"It's Miss Ash."

"Miss Ash. I'm afraid I must detain you."

"Jack! Release her at once!" Elizabeth demanded. "You can trust she will not tell a soul. James will not come after us."

The pirate regarded angered woman with a confidence of a man who knew what plagued everyone's mind, except perhaps his own. "Ah, but maybe we want dear old x-Commodore to come after us as we cannot part from these parts without parting him from a highly useful to us and therefore must be obtainable object," he procured.

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed into daggers ready to be hurled at the offender. "What do you mean?"

Sparrow waved a blistered finger under her nose. "There's a trinket of significance in the x-Commodore's possession, which you must desire to dispossess him of because the possession of the dispossessed from the above mentioned party item will help you possess William once more. However, the x-Commodore may not wish to be dispossessed of such a valuable, therefore we must threaten to dispossess him of another much more valuable valuable to get the item of dispossession. Savvy?"

"James has something that will help us save William?"

"In so many words, yes."

Renee suppressed a sigh as Elizabeth rode away on her horse, leaving her in the maddening company. Once she was gone, the pirate seemed comfortable enough to let Renee stray a few feet, which she did, keeping maximum distance between them. The deranged Captain ordered the two remaining pirates to drag away the supply crates down the beach where a boat was waiting for them while he guarded the prisoner. Renee couldn't see his ship. Yet, it was easy to assume she was nearby, hidden behind a think line of jungle.

As they waited in queer silence for Elizabeth's return, Renee threw a side glance at a sword in his possession. She observed that he always instantly caught veiled scrutiny. He gave her a half-crooked smile as his black eyes glimmered with understanding.

"As a matter of fact, I was wishing I could fight like you, rather than thinking about escaping," said Renee. She was confident that James would come for her. There was no need to risk her life prematurely.

The pirate raised a suggestive eyebrow and glided over the sand closer to her. "How would that be, love?" he purred. "Splendidly? Magnificently?"

"Dirtily," said Renee, wrinkling her nose and edging away from him. "It's not a bad thing to cheat," she added, considering that mocking her capturer was unwise. "I'd never be able to learn the Admiral's technique. He is a powerful man, whereas I'm a scrawny woman. Only underhanded pirate tricks would help me in a fight." She did trust her ability to judge character, which told her this man did not have sadistic instincts of a murderer, not that he hadn't killed men out of necessity. Such was life.

He met the statement with a knowing smirk, directed behind her. Guided by his strange expression, she turned and instantly cursed the impulse for he twisted her arm in a hard grasp, pulling her tight against his body and pressed a pistol to her temple.

"I still do not see you ship, Captain."

Disdainful and dripping with irony tone was unmistakable. Once more James had to come to her rescue. It seemed her fate to balance on an edge of a knife or at a tip of a firearm. Although she shot the last man who threatened her, it wasn't enough to abate her fears.

Perfectly calm, Norrington helped Elizabeth dismount and then followed quite skilfully for a man who lived mostly at sea. He regarded the antagonistic pair like they were drinking tea rather than threatening murder. "Commendably so, you have perfected cheap dramatics," drawled out, advancing on them.

"That's far enough," Jack warned. "It be mutually agreeable for x-Commodores and Captains to keep a distance between them long enough to prevent triggers being pulled."

James stopped. "You're not much of a Captain. Sparrow. Still, given that you've chosen to name yourself such, you should familiarise naval hierarchy. A rank above Commodore is Admiral."

"Captain," Jack corrected.

"I rejoice at your brevity," Norrington retorted. "State what it is that you want from me."

"No."

The pirate had an innate ability to frustrate even a rock. Norrington crossed his arms on his chest to stop himself from losing his patience and strangling that for some reason still living nuisance.

The pirate rubbed Renee's cheek with a pistol barrel due to a temporary inability to scratch his chin. "It appears to me, you'll be disinclined to produce an object should I name it."

"It appears I'm disinclined to listen to your drivel until you release Miss Ash," Norrington snapped impatiently.

"You never have, mate. Didn't bring you much luck, did it?"

The mark hit the nerve. Renee had no way of knowing that the pirate was hinting at Isle the Muerta, but Elizabeth knew that James regretted the losses on the _Dauntless_ that dreary night.

"It appears I'll shoot you both unless you speed up these negotiations!" she warned, perhaps intending to do so as she stepped in between the two men, threateningly close to Jack. The Captain used that instance to make a brief nod in Norrington's general direction. The gesture didn't elude an Admiral.

"You want my sword," he stated.

"No," said Jack once more, cutting off any questions. "Elizabeth wants the finest sword created by William Bootstrap junior. You wouldn't have an objection to permanently yielding it into her care, would you?" He made a wide, magnanimous gesture with his weapon, at last removing it from Renee's temple. "Lizzy if you please, liberate x-Commodore of the object of mutual interest."

James' fingers sunk deep into the sleeve of his coat as Elizabeth removed the disputed sword from the sheath. Jack released the prisoner as soon as Elizabeth reached his side, receiving another slap for trying to point his weapon at his King as an insurance that Norrington wouldn't do anything stupid.

It seemed that Elizabeth already said a goodbye to James during their ride because she silently motioned Jack to return to the _Black Pearl_. The pirate fidgeted and walked sideway like a crab, sizing up nearby leaves and plants for cover as Norrington steadily followed the pair several feet behind.

"You don't need to follow us," Jack assured nervously, though the later was partially an act. Watching him closely, Renee realised that he was far more dangerous than she first thought.

"Yes I do," James cut him off in a tone devoid of negotiation. He wanted to be absolutely sure that Sparrow was off his island. He looked menacing indeed because as they reached the awaiting boat an appearance of their Captain closely escorted by an authority figure caused an upheaval.

A short, balding pirate jumped to his feet abruptly, grabbing his pistol. But, a heavy trunk underfoot and a sharply craned boat did their treacherous job and tipped him overboard with a spectacular splash where he swallowed a mouthful of water and one unfortunate fish that happened to swim by. The second pirate, seeing his mates' untimely demise grabbed the oars and fervently began rowing away from the shore.

"No! Halt!" Jack screamed, forgetting that it wasn't prudent to turn his back on his enemy as he gallivanted across the sand and waves after his running crew. He reached the boat shoulders deep in the water, stepping onto his crewman's head to climb inside. Elizabeth followed his suit. Only then the pair dragged in the sputtering and coughing pirate who upon regaining his breath turned his rage onto the offender for intending to leave him behind. The boat was making a steady getaway with Jack rowing and Elizabeth screaming at the squabbling duo to cease the fight else they'd tip over as one of them pulled a wriggling fish out of the water and hit the other over the head with it repeatedly.

The leaving boat was pursued by uncontrollable laughter. Renee plopped down on the sand, gasping for breath and wiping tears from her cheeks. "You don't suppose they will reach their destination?" she questioned once the boat grew small and her laughter somewhat subsided.

"I must firmly believe first that Satan will baptise children before I'll admit that Sparrow can do something right."

James took a seat beside Renee. Their proximity made her feel light as a bird. He had been looking at her only while she laughed, never seeing a legendary ship that appeared from the turquoise horizon, gliding on waves like a dark cloud, to collect her captain.

"Will you choose to pursue him?" asked Renee.

James shook his head.

"Judging by an insane demeanour and an absent minded disposition, he intends to sail some god forsaken waters where I pray a crusading sea monster will eat him, though I wouldn't be so lucky. In either case, he will be far away from here, which suits me well. Rather than pursuing a man I don't want to see, I will find greater pleasure in offering that cancelled walk to a wonderful lady once more."

"And I will accept," she muttered, making no attempt to rise. She was drowning in his green eyes that regarded her with love. When she had first looked into them, they've spoken about freedom, which he eventually brought. In turn, she freed him from serving only one purpose in life, his duty. This time he had a reason to stay in Port Royal. She was that reason.

On the bridge of the _Black Pearl,_ the Captain spying on the kissing couple ashore lifted his hat in salute.

"I've always been rooting fer you, mate."

* * *

><p>Aaaaaaaaaand FINISHED! XD<p>

Thank you thank you thank you for reading and commenting. Your comments mean my writing isn't a waste of space!

It's an incredible feeling to look back and realise that the writing process took nearly a year! I hope it was worth all the time and effort! =D

Since I'm all happy and cheery, I'll share a few quotes that I've written for but chose not to add into the story.

Bonus!

"There are two things in the world; one I love and one I hate the most. I love liars. Whenever a man lies, it tells me that I am more powerful. Consequently, most of all I hate liars who lie to me successfully. Sadly you've accomplished the second. I hate you little girl and I will squish you like a bug." (Lord Cutler Beckett)

"You've thrown away my rum!" James accused.

He pouted like a child. Renee almost felt a surge of sympathy for him and almost felt like allowing him one more gulp. Almost. She glowered at him instead. (Renee and James Norrington)

"I don't judge your education and intelligence based on the layer of mud on you. I've also had the time in my life when I was dressed better and passed for a better person. None of that knowledge had been taken away, regardless of how drunk I get." (James Norrington)

Cheers!


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